Murder In New York
Part 2
8 August, Wednesday
Office of the District Attorney
New York City
0900 HoursSerena Southerlyn pulled her hair behind her ear and studied the case file in front of her. She looked up at the detective in front of her and twisted her mouth in a grimace. "Nothing? You can’t find anything on this guy?"
"Nope. We’re double checking with NCIC, but I think it’s a waste of time."
"Detective, Mr. Palmer is a heron addict. And from the tox report, a dabbler in several other mood-altering drugs." She looked down at the report and shook her head. "He is still at Bellevue, in the psych ward no less, and you’re telling me we’ve never arrested him before this murder?"
Ed Green just shrugged. "That’s what we found. We can’t even trace him back past six months, and that’s just from the credit card. The social security card was issued in New York in 1962. At least that’s what the number tells us. We’re tracking that further. But, according to preliminary records, no income has ever been reported against that number."
"So it’s likely a fake. Which makes Mr. Palmer a fake? Witness protection?"
Green shrugged again. "The bar owner swears the guy just showed up one night about three weeks ago. Two nights later he’s playin’ the piano for his diva-in-residence, one Ada Marshall. She, by the way, is fairly easy to track."
"Do Palmer and Marshall have a history?"
"Not according to Marshall. Though about two weeks ago, when the really heavy activity on the card started, there are several purchases that Mr. Palmer probably wouldn’t use himself. At least not from what we can find in his room at the Viscount Hotel."
Serena flipped through the report. "That’s the transient hotel up near Harlem, right?"
"Yeah."
"Oh." She read from one of the papers. "So you found no evidence that Mr. Palmer wears size 34 A bras?"
Green laughed. "No, though if I would have to hazard a guess, Miss Marshall is a perfect 34 A."
"You would hazard that guess, detective?" Carter’s look was just a tad cooler, warning the officer not to take this any further. Green just grinned back at her. She was still fairly new to the ADA ranks, but he liked her style. She was a knockout. Not his type really, but pretty nonetheless. Green’ partner, Lennie Briscoe, had grudgingly let his partner make the call to the courthouse instead of him. Green would sit in the back for the arraignment, if they were able to actually get the poor bastard there.
"So you think he will be okay to appear in court or not?" Green asked.
Serena sighed and sat back in her chair. "Hell if I know. We’ve sent two plainclothes officers to pick him up. But it’s the damn courthouse. I can’t figure out how we can get him past all those cops without him going nuts." Just then she looked up into the brightest pair of blue eyes and a killer smile. "Can I help you?" she snapped at the tall, handsome man standing there in a charcoal-grey suit that fit him just fine. Behind him was a woman, wearing a taupe, two-piece suit, the jacket buttoned from neck to hem, which reached down to within an inch of the skirt bottom. While the look in the man’s eyes was confident and friendly, the woman looked pensive and a little nervous. Funny, she didn’t look like she was new at this. ‘This’ was being a lawyer, because Serena would bet anything that they were both attorneys.
The man, his hand outstretched, stepped into the tiny office. "Miss Southerlyn? Harmon Rabb. This is my…colleague, Sarah MacKenzie. Our boss sent us down to represent a Mr. Clark Palmer. We understand he hasn’t been arraigned yet."
Serena stood and took the proffered hand. "Mr. Rabb. Miss MacKenzie." She nodded toward the woman. "Have you seen your client yet?"
"Ah, no. We thought he would be here. We were just assigned to the case."
"Who assigned you, Mr. Rabb?" Serena thought his phrasing was just a little off, though she couldn’t pinpoint it.
Rabb took a deep breath. "Mr. Chegwidden, ma’am. He’s one of the senior partners at Grom and Randall."
"Pretty heavy guns for a nobody piano player, Mr. Rabb." Serena’s attention was momentarily drawn to MacKenzie who seemed to slightly stiffen at the description of her client. Serena wondered, «Has MacKenzie had ever tried a criminal case before? Has Rabb?» Grom and Randall, while one of the biggest law firms in the city, wasn’t known for working criminal cases, unless it was in connection to their high-priced financial clients finding themselves entangled in some kind of trouble, and usually then only the foreign ones. She couldn’t remember the last Grom and Randall lawyer she had met, let alone went up against.
"Mr. Palmer is the son of one of our biggest accounts, ma…Miss Southerlyn."
«Damn, his momma must be proud of those manners. He won’t last long in criminal law though, he looks soft.» Serena sighed and picked up her phone. She spoke softly into it, but she was sure they all heard her side of the conversation. "Yes, this is ADA Southerlyn. Have they picked up Mr. Palmer yet? Any trouble? Well damn it. How many times do you have to be told? Fine. The chains will probably be necessary here anyway. Yes, twenty minutes." She hung up the phone. "How much did they tell you about your client, Mr. Rabb?"
"Only the bare bones." Rabb placed his brief case on the floor and leaned against the windowed wall. Serena hated to close the blinds if she didn’t have to; it was so cramped in here anyway that when she closed herself in she almost got claustrophobic. "We… uhm… understand Mr. Palmer has added drug addiction to his wayward ways."
Serena studied the too-good-looking lawyer and pegged him as a real smart-ass. Dryly she asked, "So you can fill us in on Mr. Palmer’s background?"
The answering smile was as cocky as she had ever witnessed. "Sure, as it pertains to the charges at hand. My client, Mr. Palmer’s father, prefers to stay out of it."
"I just bet he does, Mr. Rabb." Serena stood and glared at the two, obviously high-priced poster-pair for corporate America. "Your client will be here in ten minutes. He’s scheduled for arraignment in 30 minutes. You can have a conference room to interview him. Before you ask, the chains stay on." She pushed past Rabb and nodded once again to MacKenzie, who hadn’t spoken a word.
: :
As they walked down the hall, Harm kept looking over at Mac. He was worried about her. But then, he was worried about the whole meeting. The law firm, Grom and Randall, had pretty heavy connections with the agency, so getting the three of them credentials had been fairly easy. But he knew he had stumbled in there. Too much. He didn’t need Mac to point out that he had put on too much of his infamous top-gun charm. Todd Barclay, the real partner at Grom and Randall who would be helping them, had greased the way for AJ Chegwidden to be named as a senior partner. He and Mac were now two of 500+ associates there.
Mac did pretty well, though she hadn’t asked any questions. She just stood there behind him. That wasn’t his Jarhead, and he just hoped she would be okay. He really hoped that the whole meeting would go well, but he was prepared for some kind of weird reaction from Webb. Hell, the two of them had worked together off and on for the past six years. They had grown closer in the past two years, even with the fiasco last year when Webb had framed his murdered friend for treason. Two months later Webb had risked his own life to get Harm's brother out of Russia. Webb probably saw that as just evening out the score, but that one act had made it all personal. Rabb would do whatever had to be done to help his friends.
"You okay?" he murmured as he held the door open.
"Just ducky." She sighed as she tossed her briefcase on one of the chairs in the stark room. "Just peachy-keen."
"Mac, come on, talk to me. We’ll get this done. Whatever it takes." He reached for her and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I promise."
She fought the urge to weep. «Now is not the time. But! Chains!»
They didn’t have long to wait. A hearty knock at the door brought them both to their feet. Rabb reached over and opened the door to find two plainclothes officers standing there with Webb between them, his head bowed. The spy hadn’t been shaved, his hair was a mess and the orange uniform was at least a size too big. A heavy leather belt was fastened around his waist. A long chain hung down and was attached to leg cuffs. His hands were cuffed to the belt. He couldn’t take a step longer than the length of his foot. Rabb involuntarily turned to see Mac's reaction, but he found her standing rigid. Her face was a mask. In fact, she looked like she was ready for someone to smash her in the face. "Thank you, officers. Can he sit down?"
"Only way we’re leaving him, counselors." They manhandled Webb until he was sitting in one of the chairs. Only then did Harm notice the ring in the floor. "You know all the rules, right?" one of them asked.
"Yes, officer. Thank you." The door closed behind them but Harm knew they would be right outside. He walked back to the table and carefully studied the man who hadn’t looked up from the floor since the door opened. He cleared his throat. «Here goes.» "Ah…Mr…Palmer?"
"Yeah." The voice sounded so weak and tired.
Mac was trying hard to regain her composure, fighting the urge to take him in her arms. All she wanted to do was to get him the hell out of here. She repeated the hated name. "Mr. Palmer, could you look at us, please?"
He lifted his head. He hurt. He wanted his fix. He wanted to get back to his piano at the bar. He needed his piano. It and the dope were the only things that kept the nightmares away. The nightmares were getting worse. Before they were just at night, but now…now they haunted him when he was awake. He found himself staring into a vision. She was so beautiful. He waited for the pain to start but her smile, tentative as it was, calmed him. "Who are you?" he whispered to her.
"We’re your lawyers, Mr. Palmer."
He turned his head to face the other and as soon as he looked into the man’s face he felt the horrible terror start. The moan started deep in his chest and sweat streamed down his face; he’d been sweating ever since he’d seen so many cops that all he could do was stare at his feet. But this man wasn’t like the woman from the other day. He didn’t get closer, he didn’t touch him, didn’t call him by that hated awful name.
He barely registered the pain that skittered across the other man’s face. But even as he was cowering, crying in his chair, he thought he heard a resigned oath. "Bastard. He’s mine when we find him, Mac."
"Go on, Harm, tell the…boss. I’ll handle it from here."
"Noooooooo," the long scream erupted from his throat. "Bad, bad, bad. Stop, stop, stop."
Mac pushed Harm out the door to let him deal with the two cops. She shut it firmly behind him and turned to face Webb. Kneeling next to him, she soothed. "There, he’s gone now. It will be all right." She reached out and lightly touched him, but he jerked away in pain.
"No, no, no. Don’t."
"All right. I won’t, just please, take a deep breath." She was surprised when he did. He looked around and could see they were alone. She stood up and sat across from him and made herself look at the man who had come to mean so much to her. "Can you talk?" He just nodded. "What’s your name?"
He looked at her and she could see the old Webb cunning behind the drug-dulled eyes. "I thought you said you were my attorney, don’t you know my name?"
She cocked her head to one side and looked at him for a long time. He thought he knew who she was. She was the angel from his dream. What was her name? He tried hard to think but then remembered why that was such a bad idea. He grimaced at the sharp pain that stabbed at the back of his eyes, but he swallowed his whimper. He wanted to be strong for her, though for the life of him he couldn’t remember why.
"I know your name; do you know your name? You are pretty upset."
"Clark Palmer."
"Very good, Mr. Palmer. Do you know what you are charged with?"
"Charged? No. What happened? Did Ada say I stole her money again? I didn’t. But if she wants to take it out of my credit card, that’s okay. Ada is good to me."
Mac made a silent vow to pay a long visit with Miss Ada Marshall. "Mr. Palmer, you are charged with murdering your dealer." She waited while he worked it out.
"Why would I murder Bobby?" He had a confused look on his face.
"We don’t know why, Mr. Palmer. But the busboy at the club where you worked said he saw you standing over the body with a gun in your hand. Where did you get the gun, Mr. Palmer?"
"What gun? I don’t have a gun. Where would I get a gun?" A shudder took his body and he whispered. "Could you get me some dope, please? Ada says the dope is the only thing that keeps me steady. It keeps the dreams away. I don’t have to think too hard. I don’t like to think too hard. It hurts."
«Oh, yeah, Ada, you are mine.» "I’m sorry, Mr. Palmer. You are being arraigned for murder in eleven minutes. We are going to plead you not guilty and arrange for bail."
"Does that mean I can go back to the bar and play tonight? I really have to play tonight."
Mac sighed and stood up. "Sure, Mr. Palmer, whatever you want."
: :
Cassie O’Brien knew she shouldn’t be here. They had the plan firmly in place. But she knew he would be watching from the back. She told herself that she needed to get a good look at Webb for herself. «Yeah, girl you keep telling yourself that.»
She was right, AJ was sitting there, looking damn good in a suit she had helped him pick out one Saturday not that long ago. He spared her a brief look then proceeded to ignore her. That was good. They had decided to keep their relationship, even the knowledge of each other, under wraps for this trip. It was too critical not to draw attention to Webb’s identity and what was going on. They weren’t sure if this was some kind of set up and Webb was being watched or what. Gingerly, she sat down across the aisle from him and turned her full attention to the proceedings in front of her. The judge, O’Bannon by his nameplate, was just setting bail for an arson suspect.
Cassie let her eyes wander to the door on the other side of the room. They were just leading Webb out. Only Mac was there, which meant they had been right. Webb had been programmed to fear Rabb. It had to be Palmer who was behind this.
"People of the State of New York vs. Clark Palmer."
Serena Southerlyn stood up and presented the charge.
Mac stood across from her and nudged Clay. Webb looked around the courtroom. His anxiety was so high he was almost unable to speak. The judge asked him twice how did he plead and twice he looked into the only caring eyes he could remember seeing.
"Your honor, my client is suffering from extreme paranoia and is too frightened to speak. He wants to plead ‘not guilty.’
"Paranoia or not, I want to hear it from him, counselor."
"Clark," she made herself say. "Clark, you have to say you’re not guilty."
"N-n-not guilty," he managed, though he was looking at her the whole time.
"Fine." Judge O’Bannon sighed. "Miss Southerlyn, bail recommendations?"
"We request that the prisoner be confined until trial, your honor. He is charged with killing a police officer and we have discovered this afternoon that Mr. Palmer’s family is financially capable of getting him out of the jurisdiction. We feel that he is a danger to people around him, as is evidenced by his behavior around the investigating officers. As Miss MacKenzie pointed out, he is suffering from some mental disorder, though we have not assessed nor have we seen documentation to suggest that he has been diagnosed as paranoid."
Mac glared at Southerlyn. She hated playing this game but Anspach was ready to present fabricated medical records showing a life-long history of mental illness. "Your honor, Mr. Palmer has no criminal record. He has been in and out of institutions since he was sixteen. Mr. Palmer’s family is prepared to furnish information proving he has never been a threat to anyone but himself. Truly, sir, this man is not a threat to society."
"Except for undercover cops," Serena breathed a little too loud.
"That’s enough, counselor." O’Bannon banged his gavel.
Webb cringed. He had heard every word she said. He was nuts. Well that explained a lot. Didn’t explain why that guy had attacked him in the alley. But Ada said he couldn’t say anything about that. Ada knew what to do. She took care of him. He wondered if Ada would let him see MacKenzie once he was out of here. He didn’t want to see the man who had come with her this morning. Just thinking about the man made him start to shake. But MacKenzie’s hand on his arm calmed him a little.
O’Bannon studied the information in front of him. "Ms. MacKenzie, what is Mr. Palmer’s family prepared to do to ensure that Mr. Palmer is not a threat to the people of New York, because I have to agree with Ms. Southerlyn, he did attack that policeman who was interrogating him."
Mac took a deep breath. "Sir, Mr. Palmer’s family has arranged for him to be institutionalized at a private facility here in the city." She reached into her briefcase and brought out the papers that Anspach had prepared just for this contingency. The hospital was very private and extremely expensive. It also had some vague ties to CIA operations.
Just as the bailiff was taking the paperwork, Webb snarled. "You promised you would let me play the piano. You said I could go back and…"
Mac turned and took him by the shoulder. "Mr. Palmer!" She made him look into her eyes. "I said you could and you can. There is a very nice baby grand there, waiting for you." It killed her to lie to him, but she continued, "Ada is there waiting for you."
He stilled immediately and sighed. "Oh. Well, okay then."
O’Bannon studied the papers and then looked at Southerlyn. "Does confinement at Havenhurst Hospital meet with your approval?"
Serena thought for a moment. "If the prosecution and police are granted access to check on Mr. Palmer, then we will revise our recommendation to two million dollars bail."
"We are prepared to present bail in that amount, sir," Mac snapped. It was excessive, but again, Anspach had it covered.
Chapter 3
8 August, Monday
Superior Court
1130 HoursAJ sat in the courtroom and studied the way Webb cringed and nearly whimpered out loud as he was forced to stand next to Mac. He figured it had to be killing her seeing him like that, and he wondered how he would feel if something that terrible happened to Cassie. He was still mad at her because she couldn’t understand his insistence that she not take the crap her mother was dishing out. ‘AJ, for heaven sake! I’ve been dealing with the woman for 43 years now. Just let it be.’ But he couldn’t. It rankled him the way Lady Susan put her daughter down. The last time, eight days ago, he had torn into Cassie after a disastrous dinner at Calisto’s where the Duchess of Adair had put down the service, the table setting and Cassie’s dress. AJ stood and threw his napkin on the table and left the restaurant. That night they fought long and loud – over the telephone. Yesterday had been the first time he had seen or spoken to her since then. She refused to discuss the matter after everyone left, insisting that they just get through this and then they would have a long discussion.
He had spoken briefly to Rabb, who told him what they had expected. "He can’t stand to even look at me, Admiral. But he seems fine with Mac. It has to be Palmer. He probably never found out that Webb and Mac are together."
Webb and Mac. That still took some getting used to. But the two of them seemed happy enough – when they were together. Webb was busier than ever, and so was Mac. She was an excellent barometer for telling when Webb was in town. If he was around, she was pretty damn happy. If the spy was out of town, AJ could gauge just how long it had been by Mac's ever-increasing anxiety. This past time, he thought she would dissolve into tears if anyone said the wrong thing. She never did, though, and the only person who really incurred her wrath was Tiner. And AJ had to admit, Tiner was a real pain in the ass sometimes.
After the bailiffs led Webb out of the courtroom, AJ stood, and without sparing Cassie a look, made his way outside and waited for Rabb to check in. After Webb’s rejection, Rabb had gone to track down everything he could find about the murdered cop and the particulars on Ada Marshall.
His cell rang. "Chegwidden." He listened then said, "Just don’t get into any trouble, Harm." As he was putting the phone back in his pocket he saw Cassie out of the corner of his eye. He walked to the elevator and was rather surprised when she got in behind him. He could see two other people making for the open doors, but he leaned over and pushed the ‘close door’ button.
"That was mean." Cassie’s chuckle turned into a gasp when he dropped his brief case and pulled her to him in one fluid sweep. The kiss was demanding and intense. She opened her lips to him and gripped his shoulders until the door dinged. Stepping away from her, AJ calmly picked up his brief case and turned to face the two men just stepping into the cage.
"All I know, Lennie, is that he’s Palmer’s lawyer and said he wanted to see everything we have."
"Well, he’s welcome to it. The poor bastard is nuts, if you ask me. Too many recreational drugs."
"Well, this Rabb sounds like a real bulldog. His partner is a quiet one."
The other detective studied his partner. "Franconi said she was a real looker."
"Oh, yeah. 'Course, Mr. Rabb is strictly GQ."
The doors opened and as the two cops stepped into the lobby, the last thing AJ heard was, "Yeah? Well you know these lightweight corporate lawyers, they aren’t going to find anything we didn’t."
"Oh, yes, WE will." Cassie whispered just loud enough for AJ to hear. They spared each other one long searing look before he turned to walk to the back of the building to the limo that would take him, Mac and Webb to the private hospital.
Cassie walked out into the glaring sunlight and hailed a cab. "Federal Building." She leaned back and tried to concentrate on the problem of the six-week gap in Clayton Webb’s life. But AJ’s kiss had pretty much driven everything else to the background. «Oh, mother. You really are in fine form this time.» Cassie seldom got far enough with any man to actually introduce him to Lady Adair. She certainly would have held off with AJ, but Susan herself had pushed the issue by showing up at the end of the case that had thrown the FBI agent and the two-star admiral together. «What a mess.» And of course, the thing that made it truly awful was that AJ was right. Cassie knew exactly what her mother was doing and how it appeared. What AJ didn’t know and what Cassie couldn’t explain to him adequately was the reason why Susan, Duchess of Adair was the way she was.
"Lady?"
"Huh?" She looked up and found the cab was stopped at the curb. "Oh." She pulled some money from her pocket and stepped out onto the curb. Taking a deep breath she pushed her personal problems away and focused on the issues at hand. What had happened in those first three weeks? How had Webb managed for three more weeks as a piano player in a Harlem dive and had national security been compromised? She was due to meet with Agent Rice, who would continue to represent the CIA, SAC Kelly and, if she couldn’t be persuaded to return to Washington to wait, Mrs. Porter Webb.
The conference room faced west. The light was shadowed, but they didn’t bother with the overhead lights. Cassie sat where she could stare at the high rises across the street, directly across from Mrs. Webb. Rice sat, in what appeared to be a protective stance, next to Clay’s mother. Kelly sat at the head of the table. Cassie was surprised to see Bob Moriki had made it in. He and another man were to her left, examining a file folder.
"Well, since we are all here." Thomas Kelly stood to address the rest of the table. A slight man with thinning hair, he had a harried look about him. Cassie identified it as what she called the "Post-9/11" look. Too much to do with too little time to do it in, but with the underlying fear that if you screwed up this time a lot of people could die. "Let’s get this over with as soon as possible. I have a meeting with the mayor and the chief of police. I need to know what we can say about this situation."
Cassie cleared her throat and exchanged a look with Rice. The younger agent just shrugged and indicated that Cassie was senior and to take the ball. "Well, sir, per Mr. Anspach and Director Jacobs, we are still to keep this strictly need to know."
"And the District Attorney of New York doesn’t need to know he is prosecuting an Assistant Director of the Central Intelligence Agency? Do you have any idea how this will affect our relations with the locals?" Kelly sighed in resignation. It was all pro forma. He would deal.
Cassie just nodded. "We need to buy a week. Chegwidden will work on that."
"Why a week?" Rice asked, but not before looking at Mrs. Webb as if to get her approval.
"The judge set the date for two weeks. Pretty standard in a cop-killing case. Plus I think he wants to be completely done before the memorials start in September."
Mrs. Webb asked in a surprising clear voice, "But that doesn’t give the defense very much time."
"Most of these cases go for postponements. Unfortunately, Judge Dewhurst will be presiding over the case and she is notorious for not granting a whole lot of slack. I did a little checking with a friend, and the prosecution’s case seems pretty cut and dried. The defense had better be able to come up with something strong or it will be a cake walk."
Porter Webb huffed. "Well that certainly is a cocky attitude for the prosecution to take. I know Admiral Chegwidden will put him in his place."
Cassie Ryan studied the older woman. "I hope you’re right. If not, we may have to pull a fast one and whisk Webb away."
"And then what?" Everyone could hear the tension and pain in Mrs. Webb’s voice but she took a steadying breath. "Forgive me. I know everyone will do what needs to be done." Cassie almost missed the slight touch and brief smile that Rice gave Webb’s mother.
"Actually, Mrs. Webb." All eyes turned to the nattily dressed oriental agent. "That’s what we are hoping the extra week will provide us." Bob Moriki pushed a blue covered report to the center of the table. "That’s my VERY preliminary findings from the blood sample we snagged, thanks to Mr. Rice. Good job."
The young agent blushed. "Well actually, it was Mrs. Webb. I just distracted the nurse. It was Mrs. Webb who found the vial."
"I do hope she won’t get into too much trouble," Porter Webb whispered.
"What did you find?" Cassie asked.
"Well I could rattle off a list of chemicals that we found, but I would just trip over my tongue and none of you would recognize any of them but the lysergic acid diethylamide and Benzedrine." He fiddled some with the papers in front of him. "Not to mention the heroin, of course." He said this last almost bemusedly.
Mrs. Webb sniffed but asked, "Doesn’t LSD have long-lasting effects?"
"Yes ma’am," Moriki continued. "But we can offset those, a least to some extent. Mr. Webb’s normal personality and the conditioning that he has received with the CIA would hold out a fairly optimistic prognosis."
"What about with the other chemicals you mentioned?"
Moriki shrugged. "It would be helpful to have a detail of the torture that he was put through." He blushed and apologized. "I’m sorry, Mrs. Webb. This must be difficult for you."
Porter Webb sighed and stood up. She walked to the window and studied the traffic far below her. "Of course it is. But I would appreciate it if you would stop taking special consideration of my feelings. It is just slowing us down." She turned to face them, a small sad smile on her face. "I do appreciate it, but please, can we continue?"
Moriki cleared his throat. "Yes ma’am. Sor…yes, ma’am." Clasping his hands in front of him he waited until she returned to her chair. Even Rice straightened, and a faint blush of embarrassment suffused his face. With everyone’s eyes firmly on him, Bob continued. "The chemicals that we have been able to isolate, and I point out, some may have already left his system, are in small trace quantities and should have little lasting effects. The thing that worries us now is weaning him away from the heroin addiction. Unfortunately, when we do that we will be faced the full force of the psychological torture inflicted on him. We are unsure whether or not he was programmed to kill that cop in particular or if the cop did something to set him off." He shrugged, "Or if Webb/Palmer killed his drug dealer for some reason."
"Bob, are we certain that Mr. Webb actually killed the undercover cop?" Cassie was unsure why she put the question the way she did. She had read the report and it stank to high heaven.
"We’re hoping that the extra week will give us time to get some information from Mr. Webb. That is if…" Moriki spared a quick glance at Porter then hastily finished. "If we can break through whatever was done to him."
: :
Harmon Rabb studied the copy of the arrest report. It certainly looked damning for his friend. Rubbing his hand over his face he sighed as he read how one Hector Rameriz, Cuban illegal alien and part-time dishwasher for ‘The Lucky Chance’ nightclub in Harlem had been taking out a can of trash on Sunday night. Under questioning, he had expressed intense surprise at discovering the new piano player standing over a dead body, the gun still in his hand. "I swear, I thought I was dead! He looked at me real funny. I ran back inside yelling for Mr. Grant." «Well, there must have been a good reason why Webb killed the man.»
The report indicated ‘Palmer’ had gotten very agitated when the uniformed police arrived. He tried to run, but one of them easily tackled him. The cop tried to reason with him, but ‘Palmer’ had continued to grow more and more agitated until they had given up and called for an ambulance to take him to Bellevue.
Lucius Grant, the owner of the dive, had supplied Palmer’s name and address. There was a list of items taken from Palmer’s hotel room, meager toiletries, one shirt and one suit. Someone had added the commentary, ‘obviously second hand.’ There didn’t seem to be much of an interview with the owner, at least not in the official file. Rabb shook his head and wondered if the assigned detectives were holding information back.
Rabb ran his hand through his hair. He would need to go to ‘The Lucky Chance’ and talk to people. He stood up and prepared to leave the interrogation room that the Lieutenant had allowed him to use. He noticed the detective, Green, if he remembered correctly, come in with another man. Taking a deep breath he walked up to them. "Detective Green?"
"That right. Rabb, isn’t it?"
"Correct." Rabb looked and waited until Green nodded to his partner. "Detective Briscoe, Mr. Rabb."
"Sir." Rabb held out his hand and Briscoe, with a look of bemused tolerance took it.
"How ya doin’ counselor?"
"Just fine. I want to go out and talk to the people at the nightclub. Are there any problems?"
The two detectives exchanged glances. "You ever been up to Harlem, Mr. Rabb? Ever talk to anybody about a crime messier than filing false tax returns?" Briscoe’s voice held mild contempt.
Rabb kept the smile off his face. "Oh, once or twice. I just didn’t want to step on any toes."
"You did read Miss Marshall’s statement," Norris continued.
"Yes. I was a little surprised to not see any real statement from Mr. Grant." Rabb waited expectantly.
"That’s because Grant wasn’t on the premises at the time. He was coming back down the block where he had been getting some supplies," Green supplied.
"That doesn’t sound suspicious to you?"
"Nah. The guy in the liquor store down the block told us Grant had been in and bought bar sugar and grenadine."
"Funny thing to run out of or to worry about at 02…at 2:30 in the morning." Rabb cursed himself silently. But neither man seemed to notice. "Well, I’ll get going then."
"Knock your socks off. Hey, give our regards to Miss Marshall," Green called after him.
Rabb started down the stairs but was surprised to see Serena Southerlyn coming up. "Hi." He waited for her to respond.
"Hello, Mr. Rabb. I was surprised to see you let your partner handle the arraignment."
Harm noticed the faint blush that colored her cheeks and grinned. "Oh, Mac’s pretty capable."
"Mac?"
"Yeah, short for MacKenzie." Rabb tried to figure out if calling his partner and friend by her nickname was a slip like the military time and berated himself for worrying.
"Oh, sure. Well, see you."
Rabb made his way down to the corner and hailed a cab. "I need to go to 1438 West 125th Street."
"You crazy man. I ain’t goin’ up there. No way," The cabby yelled back at Rabb.
Rabb grinned. "Sure you are. Because if you don’t I’ll have your medallion. Now scoot."
The man muttered darkly all the way uptown. When he stopped and let Rabb out, he cursed long and loud at the lousy tip Rabb permitted him. Rabb didn’t care. He would worry about getting back later. He saw several cabs zipping by and figured he would manage.
"Hey baby. Want ta party? A double will cover it." The thin, tired looking hooker hadn’t even bothered to move off the stoop next door to the nightclub. Rabb walked over to her.
"You work this beat?"
"Oh, shit. What are you, a fed?" She sighed and started to pull herself up but sat back down when Rabb waved the $20.00 bill in her face.
"Nah. Private lawyer. I’m just buying information. You got any?"
"Sure, baby. Whatever you want."
"Tell me about this place?" He jerked his head toward the dingy looking club.
"Whats’ ta tell? It’s Lou’s place. Bastard." Mindful of the possible twenty, she spat well away from Rabb’s shoes.
"Mr. Grant isn’t well loved?"
"Mr. Grant!" The girl snorted. "Mr. Grant is a class A sombitch. Won’t let a girl jes’ sit by her ownself. Not even when it’s cold outside."
Rabb laughed sourly. "You hold a grudge. It hasn’t been cold out for a long time." «And it also means you are very familiar with this little piece of paradise.»
"Hey sweetie…shit, rat bastard." The whore sighed as a deliveryman hurried passed them both and returned her gaze to the proffered bill. "So want you want to know ‘bout Louie."
"What’s your name?"
"What’s yours?" She shot back.
"Harm."
"Cute. Mae."
"So Mae. What do you know about the murder that happened out back three days ago?"
"Shit, fuck." She stood up. "I shoulta knowed. Bastard." She reached for the bill, but the top gun easily held it away from her.
"Now, now. What’s the trouble? You know about it. I'll bet you know about everything that happens on this street."
She glared at him. "Bastard had no call to kill Bobby. He was a good guy. Always willin’ to loan me a nickel bag."
"A generous drug dealer?" Rabb snorted. "Come on sweetheart. I know I look like I just graduated from law school, but no dope dealer gives it away free after the first time."
"What do you know?" she screeched. "You don’t know nothin’!" She quickly scuttled away from him, forgetting the $20 entirely.
"Curious." He muttered and looked around him. He wasn’t surprised to see that everyone had gone inside, even though he doubted any of these places were air-conditioned.
He started for the door three steps down off the payment. His deep breath rewarded him with a fine scent of the city. He cursed softly. "Don’t do that again." He pushed open the door and the smell inside was almost worse that the smell outside. Sweat and other body odors combined with cheap beer, cheaper cigars and marijuana. But it was cool inside, a vast improvement over the sweltering heat of early August.
The bar was a curious mix of old glamour and disgusting rot. The bar was ancient, Rabb guessed at least 100 years old and probably worth a fortune. Directly across from it was a row of banquettes that had been plush in the 30, 40 and 50s. The floor, scarred and sticky held about 10 rickety looking tables and crummy chairs. The grand piano looked like it had seen much better days. Rabb walked to the bar and gingerly sat down on one of the red plastic-padded chrome barstools. "Bud Light," he told the bartender.
The man eyed the suit and growled, "Who the hell are you?" He reached down and grabbed up the bottle of beer from the cooler and slapped it down on the bar. However, he didn’t take his meaty hand from the neck, glaring at his customer in a way not usually approved by the New York City Bureau of Tourism.
Rabb studied the bartender for a moment. A little over 5’10", his nose was pushed into the caramel-colored face that was covered in dark skin tags. The shirt covering the fleshy chest really could not be called white. Rheumy eyes stared out from the folds of sickly looking skin. Rabb took the twenty and placed it on the bar. "Name's Rabb. I’ve been hired to represent Mr. Palmer."
The bartender picked up the twenty and released the bottle. Rabb twisted off the top and took a long drag and waited. The bartender waited silently. Rabb sighed. "Oh, for Pete’s sake. Did you know Palmer?"
"Nah. Not really. The boss said he could play for Ada. Didn’t even pay the dumb bastard. Played okay, I guess. Got me a tin ear. It all sounds the same."
Rabb didn’t know why, but he had a feeling about the bartender. "So where’s this Ada Marshall?"
"Damned if I know." The bartender took the none-too-clean cloth from his shoulder and moved down the bar moving the sticky grime around. Rabb took another draw on his beer. Turning around on the barstool he surveyed other men in the bar. Three of them looked like construction workers who had just gotten off work. They sat together at one of the tables, all of them drinking boilermakers. Rabb decided that a round of drinks would get him absolutely nothing. Instead he turned his attention to the man three stools down from him.
The man, perhaps in his twenties, looked like he would probably be dead by his thirties. He wore a world-weary look of someone who had already spent the better part of his life in custody. He also looked like he could use a drink.
"You know anything that can help me?" Rabb figured he would at least see if the man would even talk to him. He got a shrug for his efforts, but the man also looked down at his half empty beer. "Give me another and one for the gentleman here." Rabb called to the bartender who glared first at him and then at the young man. He started to pull another beer from the tap, but Rabb’s target rasped out.
"Shit. My man looks like he can stand me to something better. Make it a shot of rye." The bartender turned his glare to Rabb who nodded his approval.
Picking up his glass he moved down two seats and took in the dirty jeans, the dirtier tee-shirt that showed the faded outline of some gansta’ rapper. The man’s eyes, set deep into his dark skin, were bloodshot but undilated. "What’s your name?"
The man sipped his drink then wiped his mouth with his hand. "James. And thas all you need ta know. I ain’t testifin’ bout nothin’." He chuckled. "Not that I would make no star witness anyhow."
"Now what could you testify too, James?" Rabb figured that he was wasting his time.
"Well first off, Mr. high-priced lawyer man, if I give you something you can use and I want your card."
"My card?" Rabb looked at him in confusion.
"Yeah. Your card and your promise you’ll get me out of trouble sometime. You know – pro bono." At Rabb’s continued look of confusion James snorted. "I figure I can use me a high priced lawyer sometime."
"Yeah, but not real soon. So what you’re saying is you’ll help me if I agree to help you later with a criminal matter."
"Ain’t that the way of the world, man?" James finished his drink and waited patiently.
"I’ll spring for another one, but in a minute." Rabb took a deep breath. What could it hurt? "Okay. What have you got?"
"Well first off, Louie over there ain’t jes’ the bartender." James smiled at the look of fury on the bartender’s face. "But I figure you’re a smart one and would have figured it out – in a week or two."
Rabb nodded. "Yeah, in a week or two. Or, later tonight."
James eyed him with a look of pained concern. "Man, you ain’t staying here till tonight. You’ll never make it out alive."
Rabb smiled back. "Don’t worry about me. I think I can handle it."
"Yeah right. You got a colleague’s card?"
"Don’t get ahead of yourself. What else do you have?"
"You want to know about the white boy what’s been playin’ for Ada right?"
"Yes."
"Came in ‘bout two, no maybe three weeks ago. I was here. Old Louie was workin’ the bar as always. Ada and Joey got into it again."
"Who’s Joey?" Rabb interrupted him.
"Joey? Joey’s Ada’s man, when he’s outta the joint, and he usually plays for her. Only Ada’s a bitch and a man’s gotta have some respect. Joey walked out. Ada tried to follow him. They both left and then this guy got up and walked over to the piano. Man-o-man. It was something else. My old lady used to like that shit. The guys got real quiet and listened. It weren’t bad. Wouldn’t want to listen to it for long, you get me, but for a little while it was like the place had some class. Sorta like my old man used to describe the classy places he used to work at." Rabb signaled the bartender for another round. James saw him looking at him. "Yeah, I gotta a old man. You surprised. You think you’re better ‘an me?"
Rabb shrugged and drank from his bottle. "You’re one up on me, my dad died when I was six."
"That’s rough. My old man is pretty good. Mad as hell at me. Gave ‘em lots of trouble in the past. Goin’ straight now. If I can." He sighed as if knowing he would be dead before he ever went straight. Shaking himself out of his funk, he angrily looked at Rabb. "So you ain’t here to talk about me. You want to know about the dumbass right."
"Why do you say he’s a dumbass?"
"Cause the boy’s got some talent. Played those songs real good. Better than Joey. Put up with Ada’s shit too. Why he want to throw that all away on Bobby’s shit?" His voice dropped. "Dumbass didn’t even know Bobby was a cop. Everybody here knew it. Ada knew. Hell, that’s why she was blowin’ his jones for him."
"Wait a minute. Everyone here knew that Bobby Carter was a cop? Was he settin’ Cla…Palmer up?"
"Settin’ him up? Why? Who the hell was the piano player? Bobby was just supplying him with dope cause Ada asked him too."
Rabb took a deep breath and knew he had to get out and check on the mysterious undercover cop. "So were you here the night the cop died?"
James’ face closed up. He knocked back the shot but waived away Louie, whose expression of hatred and not a little fear Rabb barely caught in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar. "Nah. I was…somewhere else. I didn’t get here until after the uniforms arrived." He turned to Rabb, a feral grin on his face. "Man-o-man. Could have used that boy upstate. For a white guy piano player he sure could fight dirty. I’m surprised that they didn’t kill him right there. Thought that choke hold would kill him for sure." He eased off his stood. "You got that card?"
Rabb shook his head and reached for his card case. Todd Barclay had rushed through some business cards for the three newest associates of Grom and Randall. "Yeah. Call me if you think of anything else. Don’t expect me to help you with a capital case for what you gave me though." He looked at the bartender. "That twenty I gave you before should pretty much cover two drinks and three beers, don’t you agree, Mr. Grant?" Rabb didn’t wait for his agreement but stood and moved toward the door. Just before opening it he called back. "I’ll be back tonight to talk with Miss Marshall."
He just barely made out the reply. "Dumbass."
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