The Law of Second Chances

4

Just after seven on the morning after the murder, Nick Walsh and Tony Severino headed over to the luxury apartment building at Seventy-eighth Street and East End Avenue. The uniforms had learned from several of the tenants that the deceased, Carl Robertson, had been a frequent visitor to the apartment of a young woman named Angie Vincent.

“Sounds like a high-class hooker setup to me,” Tony opined from the passenger seat. Nick looked across at him. Tony looked like shit-unshaven face, rumpled, slept-in suit, raging coffee breath. He was still half asleep. He’d been sitting at his desk writing the preliminary report on their crime scene investigation and had woken up two hours later. The Styrofoam cup of black coffee he was now holding, probably his twentieth of the night, was the only thing keeping his brain ticking.

Nick, on the other hand, who was ten years older than Tony, looked almost as fresh as a daisy.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Nick responded. “He could have been visiting a sick relative, or his dentist.” He paused for a moment, then continued in the same serious tone: “Or his weenie and testicle cleaner.” It was perfect timing, honed over many years of telling stories to the same audience-cops. Tony laughed, spitting out a mouthful of coffee.

When they got to the building, they flashed their badges to the doorman, who told them Angie was home. Minutes later they were at her door.

Angie answered on the second knock. The two detectives could tell with one look that she had had a rough night. Her eyes were red and had charcoal half-moons under them. She was still in her nightgown, yet, despite the circumstances, she looked good. The nightgown was one of those flimsy jobs that left little to the imagination, and Tony was finding it hard to concentrate. He had an eye for the ladies, regardless of the situation.

Nick, on the other hand, was the consummate professional.

“Ma’am, I’m Detective Walsh, and this is Detective Severino. We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”

Angie opened the door and let them walk in, not even bothering to excuse herself to put on a robe. She sat on the couch in the living room. The two detectives sat facing her in the leather chairs on the other side of the coffee table.

“What is your name?” Nick asked softly.

“Angela Vincent.” Nick could tell she was aware of the events of the previous evening.

“Angela, did you know the deceased?” Nick maintained the same soft tone.

“Yes.”

“And how did you know him?”

“We were lovers.”

It didn’t take Nick long to get the entire story from her-right down to the ten thousand dollars a month.

“Do you know why anyone would want to kill Carl?”

“No, I have no idea.”

“When did he bring you the money?”

“Usually the first week of the month, either Tuesday or Thursday.”

“Yesterday was the first Tuesday of the month. Were you expecting him to bring you the money last night?”

“Yeah. He usually brought it on Tuesday.”

“Did you tell anyone-maybe a boyfriend or a girlfriend-that he was bringing you the money that night?” Nick noticed her pause. Perhaps she was just searching her memory, but she clearly hesitated before answering.

“No, I didn’t tell anybody.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” This time there was no hesitation. Nick made a mental note to follow up on that detail.

“Did he keep any personal effects here at the apartment?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Clothing, personal papers-anything at all?”

“No. Carl was very meticulous. He never left anything here-not even a toothbrush.”

“Did he ever receive any telephone calls here or make any telephone calls?”

“No.” Nick was about to move on when Angie interrupted him. “Wait. He did get a call here about two weeks ago, maybe three.”

“Who was it from?” Tony interrupted, his first words of the interview. Nick glared at him, a cue not to butt in.

“I don’t know. Carl was very agitated about being disturbed. I could tell, though, that it was an important call, so I put a notepad and a pen on the table in front of him.” She looked at Nick, hoping he would understand it wasn’t just about sex for her. She wants to be helpful, Nick thought as he gave her an understanding, fatherly nod. “As the conversation continued he picked up the pen and almost absentmindedly wrote something down. He inadvertently left the note behind. Now that’s the only little piece of him that I have.”

Nick hated to break the news to her that she wasn’t going to have that little piece for long.

“May I see the notepad?” he asked. Three days before, Nick had punched a 250-pound brute in the mouth while simultaneously calling him a motherfucker. Now, as he talked to Angie, he seemed like a cross between Ward Cleaver and Mother Teresa. Angie handed over the notepad.

Nick looked at the pad as Tony leaned over his shoulder. Two words were scribbled haphazardly on the sheet: Gainesville and breakthrough. Nick looked at Tony, who shrugged his shoulders. Neither of them had any idea what the words meant.

“Whaddaya think?” Nick asked Tony when they were in the car on the way back to the station.

“She’s worth maybe two hundred a pop but not ten thousand a month.”

Nick went with it. “One man’s two hundred is another man’s ten thousand.”

“I guess you’re right. If you’re a billionaire, why not pay for what you want? If I were a woman I think I’d be a hooker.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Nick replied. “We’ve both rousted enough hookers in our day to know very few make it to the big leagues.”

Tony thought about it for a second. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that, too.”

“That wasn’t my question to begin with. Whaddaya think about the notes?”

“I don’t know. They make no sense to me. Maybe he was doodling and just wrote a few random words on the notepad. Hell, it could have been his bookie.”

“Could be,” Nick replied. “We’ll have to check and see if there were any horses with the names Gainesville or Breakthrough running that day.” He gave a sideways glance at his partner just to let him know that he thought he was nuts.

“What?” Tony shrugged. “I was just thinking out loud. What do the shrinks call that-free associating? I was free associating with you, Nick.”

“Good,” Nick replied. “I hope it cures you of whatever fucking psychosis you have. In the meantime, I think I’ll check out his cellphone records and find out where the call came from. What about her? What did you think of her?”

“Nice tits,” Tony answered.

“I noticed that you noticed. She probably saw you staring at them too. My question is, do you believe her story?”

“Yeah, she seemed pretty sincere. And pretty devastated too.”

“I agree,” Nick said. “I think she cared about the guy. But there’s more to the story. She seemed uncomfortable when I asked if anyone knew about Carl bringing money that night. I’ll bet she told somebody, and I’ll bet it was recently. I’m gonna go back there tonight and talk to the doorman on duty then and see if she’s had any other visitors recently.”

“I’ll go with you,” Tony offered. “By the way, was I really staring?”

Nick just looked at his partner and smiled. “I’m just grateful you didn’t have your mouth open and your tongue hanging out.”