New York Dead

Chapter 18

Stone was twenty minutes late to work. When he walked into the squad room, the place went quiet. Dino stood up from his desk and waved Stone toward the stairs.

“What’s up?” Stone asked as they trotted up the steps together.

“Leary wants us in the conference room. There’s brass here.”

“Oh, shit,” Stone said.

Down one side of the long table were arrayed the detective squad commander, Lieutenant Leary; Chief of Detectives Vincent Delgado, a slim, rather elegant man in his fifties; and an imposing black man Stone recognized from his photographs, who was wearing the well-pressed uniform of a deputy commissioner. Deputy commissioners were mayoral appointees. Stone didn’t know the other man, who looked like a banker, in a pin-striped suit, white shirt, and sober necktie.

“Chief, you already know Barrington and Bacchetti,” Leary said.

Delgado nodded, managing a tight smile.

“Commissioner Waldron, these are detectives second grade Barrington and Bacchetti,” Leary said unnecessarily.

“I’m glad to meet you, men,” Waldron said. “I’ve heard a lot about both of you.”

“Oh, shit,” Dino said under his breath, not moving his lips.

“Right,” Stone whispered back. Waldron had been a hot assistant DA when he had joined the campaign staff of the mayor, and, after the election, he had been the mayor’s first appointee to a law enforcement position. It was said Waldron had mayoral ambitions of his own, since the mayor had let it be known that he would not be running for a third term. Waldron had a reputation for meddling in police investigations.

“And, Detectives,” Leary continued, “this is John Everett, special agent in charge of the New York office of the FBI.”

Everett, expressionless, nodded sleepily.

“If you’ll forgive me, gentlemen,” Waldron said to Leary and Delgado, “I’ll tell the detectives why we’re here.”

“Of course, sir,” Leary said.

Delgado merely nodded.

Waldron turned to the detectives. “I want to forget what I’ve read in the reports and what I’ve read in the papers. I want to hear from you every step that has been taken in the Sasha Nijinsky investigation, from day one. From minute one. And don’t leave anything out.”

Goddamn Leary, Stone thought. If he’d given them a few hours’ notice he could have put together some kind of presentation. Now he would have to wing it.

“From minute one,” Waldron repeated. “Go.”

“Sir,” Stone began, “I was proceeding on foot down the west side of Second Avenue at approximately two A.M. on the night of the… occurrence. I was off duty. I happened to look up, and I witnessed the… Ms. Nijinsky’s fall.” He was still having trouble calling the event a crime and Nijinsky a victim.

“This actually happened?” Waldron interrupted. “The papers got it right?”

“Mostly, sir.” He continued to relate the events of that night. When he got to the collision of the ambulance with the fire engine, Waldron started shaking his head.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he said, “that’s the goddamndest worst piece of luck I ever heard of.”

“My sentiments exactly, sir,” Dino said.

Leary and Delgado laughed.

“Go on,” Waldron said.

Stone took the man through his and Dino’s actions for the rest of the night, then asked Dino to describe the subsequent investigation by the detective squad. Neither detective referred to his notebook.

When they had finished, Waldron spoke again.

“Detectives, have you left any avenue uninvestigated?”

“Sir,” Stone said, “the detective squad of this precinct interviewed sixty-one witnesses, co-workers, and friends of Ms. Nijinsky and made more than eight hundred telephone calls, all within thirty hours of the occurrence. Since that time, Detective Bacchetti has reviewed each of the interview reports, and he and I have conducted a search of the home and business premises of the possible suspect, Van Fleet.”

“Is Van Fleet still a suspect?” Waldron asked.

“Officially, of course, sir. But we haven’t got a thing on him, except that he wrote Ms. Nijinsky a great many very polite letters.”

“Do you have any other suspects?” Waldron asked.

“No, sir,” Stone replied.

There was a brief silence in the room. Nobody seemed to have anything else to say.

Except the FBI man, Everett. “Why didn’t you call the FBI?” he asked.

Stone turned to face Everett; he had felt this coming. “Because no federal crime has been committed,” he replied. “As far as we know.”

“How about kidnapping?” Everett asked.

Chief of Detectives Delgado spoke up. “The lady took a twelve-story dive,” he said laconically. “What’s to kidnap?”

“Good point,” Waldron said.

Everett leaned forward. “Perhaps Detective Barrington would tell us about his terminal velocity theory,” he said encouragingly.

Stone felt color creeping up his neck into his face.

“His what theory?” Delgado asked sharply.

“Terminal velocity,” Stone said, clearing his throat. “It’s just a theory, sir. There’s nothing really to support it.”

“I’d like to hear it anyway,” Delgado said.

“So would I,” echoed Waldron.

Leary rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

Stone briefly explained what terminal velocity is and what part it might have played in Sasha Nijinsky’s fall.

No one spoke. No one took his eyes off Stone.

“Of course,” Dino interjected suddenly, “the lady’s gotta be dead. You don’t fall twelve stories and write about it in your memoirs.”

“We’ve treated this as a homicide from the beginning,” Stone said.

“But you’ve no evidence of a homicide,” Everett said, a little too smoothly. “In fact, the available evidence – the diary – points to a suicide attempt.”

“In any case, the lady’s dead,” Delgado said irritably.

“But Detective Barrington doesn’t think so,” Everett replied. “Do you, Detective?”

Everybody turned back to Stone.

“I think it’s… just possible she may be alive,” Stone said uncomfortably.

“I think Detective Barrington thinks it’s more than just possible,” Everett said. “But what counts is, was she alive when she was taken from that ambulance?”

“She may have been,” Stone said.

“We know she was alive at the scene of her fall, because of the videotape evidence Detective Barrington has told us about,” said Everett, spreading his hands, the picture of reason. “And the ambulance collision occurred only minutes later.”

“It’s possible,” Delgado said, glaring at Stone.

“All that matters to me, gentlemen,” Everett said, “is that she may have been alive when she was taken. Kidnapped. Kidnapping, in the United States of America, is a federal crime.”

“Granted,” Waldron said. “But, surely, you see our position in treating this as a homicide?”

Everett nodded. “I’m not here for a jurisdictional dispute, Commissioner; honestly, I’m not. But your own chief of detectives has just admitted that Nijinsky may have been alive when she was taken, so I’m calling it kidnapping, for the purposes of investigation, and the FBI is, from this moment, on it. Any objections?”

No one said anything.

Everett stood up. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, my purpose here is accomplished. I have an investigation to conduct.” He shook hands with those on his side of the table, nodded to the two detectives, and left.

When Everett had gone, Delgado turned to Stone. “Nice going,” he said. “Now we’ve got the feds on our backs.”

“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” Stone said, “I’m glad to have them in. Maybe they’ll stumble on something we haven’t.”

“That’s all we need.”

Waldron spoke up. “I’m inclined to agree with Detective Barrington,” he said to Delgado. “If this case isn’t solved, we can share the, uh… credit.” He turned back to Stone and Dino. “Detectives,” he said seriously, “I think you’ve done a first-class job on this, and I want you to know you have my support. Is there anything you need for your investigation? Anything at all? Just name it.”

“We need a break,” Dino said.