Bodies in Winter

THIRTY-EIGHT

Despite the snow, I came up the block on foot, the closest parking space I could find two blocks away. It was much colder now and the wind was on the rise, pushing the heavy flakes in my direction, coating my head and shoulders before I covered fifteen feet. The snow screened me from view, so that I was almost on top of the One-Sixteen before the half-dozen cops huddled on the small porch fronting the entrance were aware of my presence. It was 3:45 p.m., a busy time in every precinct. The eight-to-four shift was coming in from the field, the four-to-midnight preparing to go out.

I was walking with Ellen Lodge to my left, holding onto her elbow. Though Ellen’s coat was draped over her shoulders, hiding her cuffed wrists from view, I doubt that anybody was fooled into thinking she was a casual visitor. The chatter stopped dead when I was finally recognized, leaving only the soft wet sound of our footsteps in the slush and the steady moan of the wind.

Inside, the reception area was crowded with cops, male and female, waiting to be mustered out. They were beginning their night’s toil and relatively energized, making small talk, joking, laughing. I’d worked hard to establish a good working relationship with these folks, knew most of them by sight and four or five by name. In their collective eyes I now found the sort of forlorn shock I associated with news footage of ordinary citizens informed that the guy down the block is a serial killer.

And he seemed like such a nice man.

The desk officer, a lieutenant named Draper, found his voice as we approached the stairs leading to the squad room.

‘Whatta ya got there, Harry?’

I led Ellen up a few steps before replying. All eyes were turned to me, which was what I’d hoped for and why I’d sought an elevated position in the first place.

‘I’ve got Ellen Lodge,’ I said evenly, ‘under arrest for conspiring to murder her husband. His name is David Lodge, in case you haven’t heard.’

‘Hey, I don’t need the sarcasm.’ Draper turned to a patrol sergeant standing at his elbow. ‘What a jerk,’ he declared with a nod in my direction. ‘He don’t know who his friends are.’

But we were already moving up the stairs and into the squad room where we found Jack Petro and Bill Sarney, along with a trio of four-to-midnight tour detectives gathered around a bag of donuts. Petro was sitting behind his desk with his mouth open. Sarney was on the other side of the desk, his coat draped over his arm, his customary fedora already jammed over his naked scalp.

I watched Sarney’s face redden, his hands tighten into fists, his neck swell, his eyes bulge. Far from intimidated, it was all I could do to maintain a neutral expression as I repeated the message I’d offered to the desk officer: Ellen Lodge, wife of David Lodge, was under arrest for conspiring to murder her husband. Then I led Ellen Lodge to an interrogation room, removed her handcuffs, and told her to make herself comfortable. As I made my exit, she favored me with a string of curses, concluding her tirade with a demand that she be allowed to call her lawyer.

‘You betrayed me.’ Sarney’s small dark eyes were glittery with rage, his forehead a mass of wrinkles all the way to the center of his scalp. We were alone now, in his office. ‘You were on your way from nowhere to nowhere, running out the string on a nothing career, a step away from being a hairbag. I gave you homicide, Harry, and I got you promoted. Me, and nobody else. You hear what I’m sayin’? In your whole career, I’m the only one who recognized you for what you were. How is it that you can turn on me, now, when I really need you? For Christ’s sake, you were at my kid’s christening.’

I started to speak, but Sarney waved me off. ‘And the worst part,’ he told me, ‘is that I personally vouched for you. I told Borough Command that you’d do the right thing. I took fucking responsibility. What am I supposed to say now?’

‘Tell them what you just told me,’ I suggested before he could go on. ‘Tell them you gave it a hundred per cent, but I played you anyway. I’m sure our conversations were recorded, just like Adele’s phones were tapped, so you should come off believable.’

That brought him to a halt and he dropped down in his chair. ‘You fucked me,’ he warned, ‘and I’m not gonna forget it. Sooner or later, I’ll pay you back.’

I might have responded directly, but my mind was on other things. The case against Ellen Lodge, which I was going to have to justify, was flimsy. There was Ellen’s recorded statement, complete with Miranda warning, and there was a documented call that might have been placed to anyone. Beyond that… nothing.

‘Do you think,’ I asked, ‘that we can get down to business? Because it’s gonna be a long night, even without the lecture.’

Sarney’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘by all means. And this better be good.’

But it wasn’t good enough, that was obvious, and by the time I wound it up, Sarney’s relief was apparent. ‘This is garbage,’ he finally declared. ‘Lemme see that tape.’

‘We’re talking about tapes, boss, as in more than one. But I don’t have them anyway. My partner has them.’

‘You’re sayin’ you can’t trust me with evidence, that maybe I’d flush those tapes down the toilet?’ He might have come after me at that point, if he was just a little bigger, a little younger. As it was, he settled for pounding the side of his fist into the blotter on top of his desk. Then he did it again.

‘If that’s your only comment, Boss, I’ve got paperwork to do.’

‘You got nothin’. I’m cutting her loose.’

‘Why?’

‘Show me one piece of physical evidence tying Dante Russo to the murder of David Lodge. Bring me an eyewitness. Better yet, prove that Ellen Lodge isn’t telling the truth when she says she didn’t know what was gonna happen to her husband.’

I countered with my best argument. ‘Lodge admits she called Russo and she claims that Russo copped to the murder. Plus, she has a dual motive for wanting her husband dead. First, there was the money from Greenpoint Carton, which doesn’t sound like a lot until you see how she was living. Second, there was the simple fact that she absolutely hated her husband. Ya know, Ellen was pretty much in control for the whole six hours. She only flipped out when she spoke about Davy. Believe me when I tell you, lieutenant, that the widow did not hold anything back.’

I sat down on the chair fronting his desk before continuing. ‘And don’t forget the lies. We did four interviews with Ellen Lodge. In the last interview she admits that every essential element of the first three interviews was untrue. So, why would a jury believe she’s telling the truth about the one little item that exonerates her?’

When Sarney leaned forward to place his elbows on the desk, his swivel chair emitted a double screech that reminded me of a braying donkey. ‘Take this to the bank, Corbin: a good defense attorney is gonna get this case dismissed before it goes to trial, even if a grand jury indicts her. And those lies she told don’t mean shit. Everybody lies to the cops.’

We continued on for another few minutes, going back and forth, until I finally conceded that while the evidence against Ellen Lodge justified an arrest, a conviction might be difficult to obtain. The admission brought a faint smile from Sarney, but I quickly erased it when I said, ‘But that’s only because of the cover-up.’

Sarney looked out over my head. His office was little more than a glass-walled cubicle and I’d spoken loud enough for my words to be clear to anyone still remaining in the squad room.

‘The evidence you’re demanding is out there to be found,’ I continued. ‘I would have found it on my own, if I hadn’t been pulled off the case. For example, the crime scene where DuWayne Spott overdosed? I admit that I didn’t get much of a look at it before I was relieved, but what I did see was discarded garbage, soiled utensils, blankets and mattresses. We both know this evidence went into storage when the job decided that Spott’s death resulted from an accidental overdose. Likewise for the evidence collected at the David Lodge scene. DuWayne killed David Lodge? There isn’t going to be a trial because DuWayne is conveniently dead? Time to conserve our limited resources by packing the physical evidence into a box, then shipping it to the property clerk’s office.’

Sarney attempted to interrupt, but I was well into my act by then. ‘Now take Ellen Lodge’s phone records. Given that we know there were two shooters present when her husband was killed, and that we suspect she’s covering for somebody by throwing all the blame on Dante Russo, it would be nice to run back through her phone records for the last six months. Just on the off-chance that she made contact with an unknown co-conspirator. But, of course, being as it’s not my case, I have no way to get those records.’

I went on for some time, mentioning, along the way, Clarence Spott’s vehicle, somehow unaccounted for on the night he was killed, the sad lack of scrutiny paid to the Broom’s sudden demise, the failure to capitalize on Jarazelsky’s parole status, and Ted Savio, the lawyer shared by David Lodge, Justin Whitlock, Pete Jarazelsky and Ellen Lodge.

‘The finances,’ I concluded, ‘are the key. Russo’s, Jarazelsky’s, Szarek’s, Ellen Lodge’s, and most of all Greenpoint Carton’s. Once we start tracing the money, the house of cards is gonna come crashing down.’

Sarney raised a finger, as if he expected to win on a technicality. ‘Only a grand jury can subpoena financial records. And a grand jury can only be convened by the DA. You know that, right?’

‘That’s why Ellen Lodge has to be arrested. Look, David Lodge became a celebrity on the day he was charged with killing Clarence Spott. That’s why his murder drew media scrutiny in the first place. So, what do you think’s gonna happen when the reporters find out his wife’s been arrested for his murder?’

Sarney shuddered. ‘If that were to happen,’ he said, ‘blood would flow.’

‘Not necessarily.’ I waited until Sarney’s eyes rose to meet mine. ‘If the job admits it made mistakes, then moves to clean house, the damage can be limited. There are bad apples in every barrel, right? On the other hand, if Ellen Lodge is released and some insider leaks it to the media after the fact? Think about it, lou. Think about what’s gonna happen if Ellen Lodge is released on your authority. Think about what the job will do to protect itself. Think about what it feels like to be the official NYPD scapegoat.’

I expected Sarney to explode at that point, but he surprised me, perhaps because he’d already considered this outcome.

‘Wait in the squad room,’ he ordered, ‘and see that Ellen Lodge gets to call her lawyer.’

Jack Petro and the four-to-midnight detectives were standing by the door when I came out. They fled at my appearance, which was fine by me. I knew they’d repeat the conversation they’d overheard to every cop they came across. That was all I wanted from them.

Ellen Lodge was considerably more subdued when I offered her my cell phone. She’d been contemplating her fate for an hour by this time.

‘You still have options,’ I explained, ‘if you want to take them.’

She stared at the phone for a moment, her expression puzzled, as if she was having difficulty remembering what it was for. Then she said, ‘You think I could use the bathroom?’

I accompanied her, but, of course, had to remain outside, risking the chance that she’d escape through the window. She didn’t, emerging instead with her face scrubbed. Again, I made an attempt to reach her.

‘Conspiracy in the first degree is an A-One felony,’ I said. ‘It carries a maximum penalty of life without parole, which you are very likely to get. We’re looking at five murders here.’

Ellen shook her head. ‘You’re not supposed to talk to me without my lawyer present.’

‘Well, that’s just it, that lawyer. What you wanna do is instruct him to cut the best deal possible in return for your truthful testimony. It’s the only way out.’

I could see it in her eyes, the message hitting home. She hadn’t been expecting an arrest and was unprepared for the rigors to follow. Unless Sarney cut her loose, she’d be looking at a night on Rikers Island, then a very brief appearance before an arraignment judge who would remand her without bail, the fate of all accused murderers in New York City.

I led Ellen back to the interrogation room and left her with my cell phone. When I returned a few minutes later to retrieve the phone, I asked, ‘You have any luck?’

‘My lawyer will be here in an hour.’

‘And what lawyer would that be?’

‘Theodore Savio.’

Inspector Thaddeus Clark, accompanied by Sergeant Joe Flaherty, beat the lawyer by a good fifteen minutes. They barged into Sarney’s office, without knocking and without so much as glancing in my direction. A few seconds later, the blinds came crashing down.

I recognized both men. From his office at Queens North Borough Command, Clark supervised the detective squads in six NYPD precincts. Flaherty was his driver.

When Theodore Savio arrived, he too went directly to Sarney’s office, though he did pause long enough to knock before opening the door. Savio was tall, slender and well-dressed. He wore a Russian fur hat, undoubtedly sable, and a black overcoat, undoubtedly cashmere. Everything about the coat, from the fit of the shoulders to the ruler-straight drop from armpit to hem, was perfect.

Savio emerged less than a minute later. He crossed the room to a wooden coat rack near the stairwell, took off his hat and coat, finally hung them on hooks. ‘Now,’ he said, turning to me, ‘if you’ll kindly show me to my client.’

Though he maintained a polite smile throughout, Savio’s overall intensity was apparent. He was young and hard-charging, with a long face, a square determined chin and the shoulders of a linebacker. If possible, his charcoal gray suit fit him even better than his coat.

I led him to his client, then walked back to my desk. For a short time, I fiddled with the five I’d eventually have to write, but then my thoughts began to wander.

The anger of my superiors, I decided, was nothing more than vanity. In their world, communication flowed in one direction only, from higher to lower. Pissant detectives, like myself, were supposed to take orders and keep their mouths shut. My failure to do so was not only a challenge to their authority but an affront to their dignity as well. The saddest part was that, if asked, each of these ranking officers would claim that their primary concern was to protect the Department. But what they were really protecting was their own asses. That was made clear ten minutes later when Flaherty summoned me into Sarney’s office.

Inspector Clark cleared his throat as I entered. ‘I want those tapes,’ he said, ‘and any copies you may have made.’

‘What are you going to do with them?’ I asked.

‘None of your goddamned business.’ Clark’s hair was ghostly white and extremely fine. He wore it pasted flat against his skull, an affectation that drew attention to his shaggy eyebrows and oversized, horn-rimmed glasses. The rap on him was that he was a self-important ass who’d kill for a promotion to deputy chief.

‘Did you hear what I said, detective?’

‘Inspector,’ I said, ‘as I already told the lieutenant, I don’t have the tapes. My partner has them.’ I raised my arms. ‘But if you wanna search me, I’m willing to give consent.’

‘I don’t need to hear that smart mouth. Where’s your partner?’

‘I’m not sure.’

Clark made an attempt to stare me down, but I simply absorbed the wrath pouring from his blue eyes. It was a little late in the game for intimidation. Finally, he said, ‘I’m putting you on suspension. Place your badge and your weapon on the desk.’

‘What’s the charge?’

‘Conduct unbecoming an officer.’

‘And what conduct would that be?’

Clark leaned toward me, his little twisty mouth arranging itself in a smile. ‘If you don’t put your badge and weapon on that desk, and I mean right the fuck now, you’re gonna find yourself in a cell next to Ellen Lodge.’

And what could I say to that? I took out the billfold holding my badge and ID, laid it on Sarney’s desk, then followed the billfold with my Glock. Though I felt naked and exposed without the badge, surrendering the weapon didn’t bother me at all. That was because I had a Smith amp; Wesson. 38 snugged into a holster attached to my ankle. This was one outcome I’d been anticipating for days.

‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ I said. ‘The investigating part is over. I’ve gone as far as I have to.’

‘Is that supposed to be a threat?’

I responded by turning my back, then opening the door to reveal Ted Savio huddled with Adele Bentibi and Assistant District Attorney Ginnette Lansky. For a moment, I was as shocked as anybody in the room, but then Adele glanced up to flash a smile I knew well. She’d won again.

Lansky was well turned out in a brown leather coat that fell to mid-calf, a pair of suede boots and an orange scarf that hung open. She was standing with her hands in the pockets of her coat when I opened the door, her lips moving rapidly as she communicated some urgent message to Theodore Savio.

‘Mother of God,’ Clark whispered, ‘what have you done now?’

I was pretty certain the ‘you’ referred to Harry Corbin, but I didn’t react. Ms. Lansky was walking directly toward me and I stepped aside to let her into the office before returning to my desk. Then Ted Savio went off to advise his client, leaving me alone with Adele. She took my hand and squeezed it. I returned the pressure before asking, ‘Bad news for the widow?’

‘Mixed news.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, she’s going to be arrested, Corbin, and she’ll have to spend the night in jail. But if she survives, the judge will release her tomorrow morning on her own recognizance. At the prosecution’s request, of course.’

‘Of course.’ I was captivated by Adele’s exuberance. She was as happy as I’d ever seen her.

‘It was Ginnette’s idea, but I have to admit it’s brilliant.’ Adele put her left hand on her hip. Her right was still cradled by the sling. ‘Accused felons, if they’re incarcerated, have to be indicted within a hundred and twenty hours of arrest. But if they’re not incarcerated, the grand jury can investigate for months before delivering an indictment. And there’s no limit on what the grand jury can investigate, either.’

The news was so good that my initial reaction was to pick it apart. How, I wanted to know, could Adele be sure the DA, possibly in league with the NYPD, wouldn’t bury the investigation? Especially in light of the fact that grand jury proceedings are secret.

The answer was simple enough. Ellen Lodge’s arrest would be made public on the following morning. At the press conference, District Attorney Kenneth Alessio would announce that the grand jury charged with indicting Ellen Lodge would investigate every aspect of the case, from Clarence Spott’s murder seven years before, to Dante Russo’s disappearance. The only issue still to be resolved was whether the task force to be established would include NYPD personnel or be staffed entirely by the DA’s own investigators.

Does it hurt now? Does it hurt now?

An hour later, when Bill Sarney returned my gun and badge, I was so high, I thought I’d explode.