Obsessed, p.16
Obsessed, page 16
Sal took another step closer. His eyes narrowed. “Jimmy Vale was my godson. I was going crazy until you grabbed that animal, Paltrice. Too bad no one has the balls to use the chair anymore.”
It was like I was looking at an entirely different man. His posture had changed and he was using his hands to talk. I said, “I remember the case. It was about six years ago. Paltrice tricked Jimmy into following him into an empty store. Then he strangled him.”
Sal shook his head. “He even knew Jimmy was protected. No respect. No common sense. Now there’s three kids without a dad and a grieving widow.”
It was like chatting with an old colleague. I said, “I broke the case because of a simple fingerprint on the door. Then I got a warrant for a DNA sample from Paltrice. I still remember the look on his face the day I arrested him.”
Sal chuckled and said, “You’re okay with me. We all decided not to do that kind of business in upper Manhattan anymore. It was all because of you. A newspaper article called you ‘dogged.’”
One of the Brooklyn brats heard him say that. The young man whined, “Sal, what the hell? We need our money.”
Sal called over his shoulder, “Not today, boys. I owe this guy.”
It’s nice to be surprised this way once in a while. I liked how Sal scolded his young comrades as he ushered them toward his Cadillac.
Sal looked at me and said, “This was sort of chickenshit. I was just showing the boys the old-school way of handling problems. You have my word that they won’t bother this pawnbroker again. But tell him he needs to know who he’s dealing with in the future.”
We nodded our good-byes. I needed to have a good, stern talk with Ronald Higdon.
Chapter 68
FIRST THING IN the morning, I was sitting in Manhattan North Homicide’s conference room. I was still a little groggy after my evening entertaining a local organized crime figure. I could’ve charged the punks from Brooklyn with attempted burglary or some kind of destruction of personal property, but they wouldn’t have spent ten minutes in jail. I hate to quote Sal Ventri, but it didn’t seem worth clogging up the court system with petty bullshit.
Now Walter Jackson, Terri Hernandez, and my lieutenant, Harry Grissom, sat around a pressboard table that had seen better days. We had a lot of information from different sources that we needed to turn into an actual investigation. Something that led us toward the identity of whoever had killed Estella Abreu, Suzanne Morton, and Emma Schrade. I was convinced they were all connected whether we had the evidence to link them or not. I was trying not to get tunnel vision and just focus on one suspect. That’s why it was good to sit down and talk things through with other people familiar with the case.
One thing about my lieutenant: he doesn’t need to run every meeting. Harry likes to listen. Don’t get me wrong. He offers advice and insights, but he isn’t so insecure that he feels like he needs to prove he’s in charge.
That left me to turn to Walter and say, “You’re the one with all the information from The Girlfriend Experience burner phone. Was Allie Pritz right when she said she thought most of the calls came from other burner phones?”
The big man nodded. “Whoever set up this whole enterprise was very bright. You said this girl, Allie, also seemed sharp. There’s no way we would’ve known about it if someone hadn’t talked. The use of burner phones and keeping their profile low means they were able to operate without any concern about the police. You told me Allie was worried about her parents finding out? I think that was more likely than the police finding out.”
Walter had a slightly different demeanor whenever a supervisor was in the room. More monotone and less outgoing. I noticed he held back his urge to make puns on everything. I greatly preferred talking to my gregarious friend and listening to his puns in the privacy of his office at the side of the squad bay.
He picked up several sheets of paper with printouts of numbers and addresses. “Almost all the calls to this main burner phone were also from throwaway phones or phones that can’t be traced easily.” Walter slid a single sheet of paper to each of us. We each looked down at our sheets. Walter’s narration picked up again. “There are six names I was able to come up with so far.”
Terri looked up from her sheet and said, “Even a doctor was calling the line.”
“Not really. He’s just a veterinarian.” Walter sounded dismissive.
I threw in, “Still, they have to go through a lot of medical training.”
“But they also solve problems by euthanizing their patients. That is nowhere close to what a medical doctor does. Certainly they don’t adhere to the Hippocratic oath.”
I didn’t know what Walter’s problem with veterinarians was, but now wasn’t the time to explore it. I looked down the list of the other names and no one jumped out at me.
Harry Grissom looked directly at me and said, “How do you feel about this suspect, Kyle Banning?”
“Certainly he’s smart enough to use a burner phone. And the fact that he knew two of the three victims is a pretty good indicator. But his sixteen-year-old brother, Jaden, is also a decent suspect. And he can be connected to the third victim.” I shook my head. “If I could’ve just had another two or three minutes to talk with Kyle Banning before their father shut me down…There’s no way to check out an alibi unless someone tells you they have an alibi.”
Terri said, “I like the timeline Walter drew up for us. He gives us something definite to look at with each suspect. We know, within twelve hours, when Estella Abreu was murdered. I have a two-day window when Emma Schrade could have been murdered. The wild card is Suzanne Morton. The best the medical examiner could give us about a time of death was a one-week window. I say we focus on Estella and see if we can figure out where either of the Bannings were during that window.”
As usual, Terri Hernandez had expressed a practical and intelligent way of going about investigating these murders. The good news was that there were no new bodies. That made sense if our suspect knew we were looking at him.
And with the new names and numbers Walter had provided, we had plenty of work ahead of us.
Chapter 69
TERRI HERNANDEZ AND I split up the names for interviewing. It was the fastest, most efficient way to narrow down our suspects. Despite my belief that I was avoiding tunnel vision by looking at more suspects, I had to admit I really wanted to clear any doubt so we could indict one of the Bannings. That’s one of the first issues always raised in homicide trials: had we ever considered other suspects? Defense attorneys don’t care who actually committed the crime. Their only goal is to convince jurors their client did not. Or, more accurately, to plant enough doubt in the jury’s minds to avoid a conviction.
I’d quickly cleared one of the names from the list. A guy who ran a bar in Midtown had hired a girl named Carly from The Girlfriend Experience three times to hang out at his bar and attract customers. He said she did a great job. Even had her personal phone number. He also had video surveillance of his bar that showed him at work during the time Estella Abreu was murdered.
I called Carly, who answered the phone, “Hey, this is Carly. Who’s this?” Her tone was flirtatious and friendly. I could see why men would want to talk with her.
I said, “My name is Michael Bennett. I’m a detective with the NYPD. I—”
Carly cut me off. She was not nearly as cooperative as Allie Pritz. “I have nothing to say to the police. I’m represented by Jonathan Berg. I’m going to call him now and tell him you called me. Please don’t call me again without going through my attorney.”
It didn’t faze me. People say things like that all the time. I made a note of the attorney’s name and figured I’d call him in a day or two. At the very least, Carly might give us some more insights into how The Girlfriend Experience worked. I had other things to worry about now.
Before I headed to the next name on the list—ironically a lawyer in Midtown—Walter Jackson texted me three more names he’d been able to figure out from the numbers on The Girlfriend Experience’s phone.
I was completely aboveboard during my next call. When the attorney answered his cell phone, I told him who I was and that it involved a homicide investigation. The lawyer, William Dexter, didn’t ask any questions. I thought about the old saying that a good lawyer never asks a question he doesn’t already know the answer to.
Even though he worked at one of the big corporate law firms in Midtown, Dexter told me to come on over to the office so we could talk. Killers usually aren’t that accommodating. Unless they think they’re much, much smarter than anyone else.
I could see why these big firms with an international presence charged so much money for everything. The firm had fourteen floors of a building overlooking Sixth Avenue. The lobby had dark hardwood paneling and marble floors.
The receptionist, a balding man about forty, had a neatly trimmed goatee that came to a sharp point under his chin. He looked up with his rimless glasses but didn’t bother to give me a smile as I stepped into the lobby. He said, “How may I help you?”
His tone made it clear he really wanted to say, You walked into the wrong office, moron. But I played the game and said, “My name’s Michael Bennett. William Dexter is expecting me.”
The man looked surprised that I had the name of one of his attorneys ready to spit out when needed. He called Dexter from his desk phone. Then he looked up at me and said, “William will meet you on the fourteenth floor. He’ll be waiting at the elevator.” The man went back to looking at something on his computer screen and completely ignoring me.
The elevator was a step down after the plush lobby of the law firm. Not that it was a terrible elevator. It’s just that in the two minutes I was in the reception area I’d sort of gotten used to marble floors and live plants.
William Dexter was indeed standing just outside the elevator on the fourteenth floor. He was a lean, good-looking guy somewhere in his mid-thirties. His longish brown hair was styled to look like he didn’t care about his appearance. His monogrammed shirt and silk tie told me otherwise.
We shook hands, and he led me down the hallway. The fourteenth floor didn’t have marble but was still a high-end office. It felt like every other room was some sort of conference room with a spectacular view and filled with real plants.
I said to Dexter, “You guys must have a great view of the parade.”
“Like any of us have time to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.” He finally turned into a lovely office with a view of a side street. He sat in a chair opposite me in front of his desk. He put on an earnest expression and said, “I appreciated you calling, but I’m not sure how I can help a homicide investigation.”
I said, “I don’t want to bring up anything that’s sensitive or awkward. But you called a phone number that’s used by a group of young women who act as dates or escorts.”
That question got a reaction. He calmly stood up and walked to the door. He closed it quietly, then came back to the chair.
Now I was really interested in hearing his response.
Chapter 70
WILLIAM DEXTER BRUSHED a stray hair from his face, then looked at me calmly. His expression didn’t change as he said, “The Girlfriend Experience, right?”
“Exactly.”
“I didn’t violate any laws. I never had sex with the young woman who met me. I just needed a date for corporate functions. I think I used her six or seven times.”
“Always the same girl?”
“Stacy. Yes. That’s the only name I have. A name and a phone number. Which you obviously have. Stacy wasn’t a homicide victim, was she?”
I shook my head. “We’re gathering background on people using the service. I also was hoping we could keep this conversation confidential until we make an arrest.”
“I’m sorry, Detective Bennett, but I never make a commitment like that unless I’m retained as a lawyer. I will say I have no reason to discuss this with anyone else.”
“I guess that’ll have to do.” I looked around the office. There were a couple of framed photos of Dexter running marathons. Clearly, the guy was athletic, educated, and had a good job. He also appeared to have decent social skills. I looked at him and said, “You seem pretty squared away. I’d think a lot of people would want to date you. Without charging you a fee.”
That earned a chuckle. William Dexter had an easy smile. “I work seventy hours a week. I train for marathons about ten hours a week. If you factor in sleep and eating, that gives me eight to fifteen minutes a day to chat with people. A former colleague gave me the number of The Girlfriend Experience. It was easy. I’d make a call. Stacy would meet me wherever I told her. She looked fabulous. And it cost me less than maintaining a girlfriend in Manhattan.” He gave a little shrug.
That answer had an important element in it. I said, “You met Stacy from a referral? Do you know if that was common?”
“Stacy told me it was the only way she got clients. It was a tight circle of people. That’s why I felt comfortable with her.”
I nodded as I wrote a couple of notes in my pad. “Did Stacy say anything else about The Girlfriend Experience?”
“She said something about one girl kinda running the whole thing. But each girl developed her own client list.”
Sounded like Allie Pritz had been completely open with us. I took a moment before I hit Dexter with a tougher question. I said, “Can you tell me where you were on the first or second of this month?”
“Ahh, so I am a suspect. Or at least a person of interest.”
“C’mon, as a lawyer, you must know we need to clear up a lot of things before we can charge the right person.” I was about to go into more explanation when he held up his hands.
“I get it. And I’m not interested in screwing up a homicide investigation. I can’t imagine anyone who would.”
“Then you might be surprised.”
He started rifling through his side desk drawers. After a few seconds, Dexter plopped a folder onto the desk. When he opened it, I could see printouts of airline tickets, a hotel bill, and some taxi receipts. Everything checked out.
Dexter said, “I was in Dallas at an arbitration hearing from the first to the fifth of the month. Ever been to Dallas?”
“Once, on a case. I do kinda like the Cowboys.”
That made him groan. “I’m a Giants fan. It’s tough lately. At least it’s not as bad as being a Jets fan.”
I was ready to give him a zinger about his Jets comment when I heard a piano. It took me a moment to realize it was my ringtone. I looked up at the attorney, who nodded for me to take a call, which was from a number I didn’t recognize. I said, “Mike Bennett.”
“Detective, it’s Michelle Finnegan.”
I knew the secretary from the Wolfson Academy wouldn’t be calling me just to chat. I turned slightly, like it would keep the attorney from hearing anything, and said, “What’s up, Michelle?”
“I wanted to give you a heads-up that we just heard Jaden Banning overdosed. He’s done it a few times before. He left the academy without telling anyone last night and took an Uber back to his parents’ apartment in the city. They found him this morning, unresponsive. The family’s at Glendale General.”
“Thanks, Michelle. I appreciate it. Call me if you hear anything else. This could be important.” I excused myself with William Dexter. It seemed like it was okay with him that I was leaving. He was already studying documents.
Chapter 71
I CALLED TERRI Hernandez to meet me at the hospital. I felt a little creepy rushing to a hospital to see if a family was distraught enough to talk to me. I didn’t really want to impose myself on anyone during a stressful time like this. But I intended to be available in case someone wanted to talk.
As I made my way uptown, Michelle Finnegan rang again.
She said, “Okay, I have a little more information. Jaden Banning told one of his dorm mates he needed to get away for a little while. He found some OxyContin at his parents’ apartment. They didn’t even realize he was at home until the morning, when they found him unconscious on the couch.”
“Why did they go all the way up to Glendale? There are several hospitals closer to their apartment.” Glendale General was on Amsterdam Avenue in Manhattanville, near West Harlem.
Michelle said, “I overheard the headmaster talking with one of the administrators. Apparently, the Bannings have been to the same hospital for the same reason a couple of times before. He said they use Glendale because it’s easier to keep things quiet. And they’re known to offer personalized service.”
I had to think about that for a moment. What kind of parent is so concerned about the family’s reputation and social standing that they would drive past hospitals with an unconscious child in the car? I would say it made me revise my view of Mr. Banning, but my impression was already pretty negative.
I asked Michelle, “Is Jaden in trouble for sneaking out? Will they kick him out of the academy?”
“I sincerely doubt that. Parents pay a premium for the school to put up with this kind of foolishness. I see it all the time. And it doesn’t help the students in any way. Like Jaden. He was sort of a known druggie. I think this was just a cry for help. He’s troubled.”
I believed her. Jaden Banning was troubled. That’s what was bothering me. I thanked Michelle and concentrated on driving. I picked up speed and cut over to Amsterdam Avenue. I used my blue light and siren, rare for me.
I had to slow down a little bit because of traffic as I approached Holy Name on my left. At almost any other time I wouldn’t have thought twice about pulling over and going in to talk with my grandfather or check on the kids. Today was no ordinary day. I had to get to that hospital fast.
As I passed Holy Name, I glanced to the right. Then I did a double take. I mashed the brakes, barely avoiding a rear-end collision. I looked over my right shoulder to verify what I’d seen. There, standing on the corner opposite the church, were the bullies who’d been terrorizing my sons. I recognized them from the video surveillance footage. One of them was even wearing the same jacket he had on in the video.
