Obsessed, p.19
Obsessed, page 19
The first conversation I heard was at about ten in the morning. Terri Hernandez was worried about me and couldn’t reach me on my cell phone. Mary Catherine and Terri chatted like old friends. Terri completely understood when Mary Catherine said she wasn’t letting anyone talk to me today. Instead, they talked about my quirks and snickered like two ex-wives comparing notes.
I could hear only Mary Catherine’s side of the conversation. But she giggled and said, “I know. It’s like sports had an actual impact on his everyday life. If he followed the stock market as closely, we’d be rich.”
I tried to tune out the rest of the conversation to avoid being insulted.
She let me change into regular clothes at about noon and move from the bedroom into the living room, so I didn’t look like I was recovering from some sort of plague. Once the kids got home, I started to feel like being ordered out of work wasn’t such a bad thing. I’d expected the younger kids like Shawna or Chrissy to make a fuss over me, but I was touched that my whole brood made an effort to entertain me.
Chrissy told me a story she’d written for class. It involved chickens who lived at a farm and started to realize they needed to escape. I didn’t point out that it was essentially the plot to the animated movie Chicken Run. Chrissy seemed too pleased with herself for me to spoil it.
Jane tried to improve my chess-playing skills. I’d always thought I was pretty good until my third-eldest child proved to be something of a prodigy. She’d backed away from chess as she got into high school, but she was still damn talented. So much so, it wasn’t particularly fun to play her. Even after her hour-long lesson.
I noticed the boys, Ricky, Eddie, and Trent, had come straight home from school. Usually, they stayed and played basketball or some other activity. I worried that the bully situation was really having an impact on their lives. No parent ever wants to see their kids affected like that. It hurt. I made a mental note to call Sergeant Figler and see if she’d made any progress finding the bullies.
The boys got me to play a video game that involved building a fortress to protect against attacking rival tribes.
Most of my questions were left only partially answered as the boys concentrated on the screen.
All in all, it was quite the satisfying day. Apparently, Mary Catherine agreed with me. Just before dinner she eased onto the couch next to me.
She said, “Having you home all day has been a lot of fun. Did you see the look on the kids’ faces when they ran to you right after school?”
“Not so bad, huh?”
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be a one-day deal.”
I turned so I could look into Mary Catherine’s eyes. “Are you suggesting I retire on the basis of a pleasant day at home on the couch? We’ve got ten kids. If half of them decide to go to college, it could bankrupt us.”
“You know we could sell this place and move somewhere cheaper than New York. We could live very comfortable lives.”
“Mary Catherine, is that what you really want?”
She thought about it for a full thirty seconds. Then she looked at me and said, “I’ll let you know when I find out where we’re going with my fertility treatments.”
Like a lot of New Yorkers, I could hardly imagine living anywhere else.
Chapter 82
IT DIDN’T TAKE long for my life to get back on track. After almost three days spent on my couch, I found myself with Terri Hernandez. Sitting in an interview room. At Rikers Island. Staring across at the veterinarian Thomas Sloan and his attorney, Linda Beam.
A few days in New York City’s holding cells had already affected Sloan’s appearance. His hair was lank and hung, uncombed, across his ears and forehead. His tan jail scrubs had some kind of food crusted on the chest. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t gratifying to see him in this state.
While I was recovering, Terri Hernandez had been busy. She’d kept the pressure on Sloan and wasn’t taking any shit at all from his attorney. We both knew Linda Beam from her days as an assistant district attorney here in the city. A graduate of Howard University, she was one of the sharpest lawyers I’d ever met. And even though I was a few years younger than her, Linda looked a decade younger. Now she was able to use her insight as well as her relationships as one of the city’s most effective criminal defense attorneys.
Linda had an edge to her voice when she said, “C’mon, guys, you don’t think an attempted murder charge is a little over the top?”
Before I could answer, Terri jumped in. “You don’t think jabbing a needle into someone’s neck isn’t dangerous? You’ve worked with cops long enough to know how much shit we put up with. Now you want us to give a pass to your dirtbag client after he stabbed Mike”—her voice raised to almost a shout—“in the goddamn neck with a needle?”
I could tell Terri’s outburst made Linda Beam uncomfortable. Her client could be facing some serious time.
Terri gained control of herself and said, “Your client didn’t know if Mike had some kind of allergy to ketamine. There’s no telling how he could’ve reacted.”
The lawyer took a breath and tried to keep her tone more conversational. “As I said earlier, Dr. Sloan is a trained professional. He knew it was just a small dose.”
Usually, I’d think that was bullshit. Just a lawyer lying on behalf of a client. A very common occurrence. But I knew Linda Beam and I believed her. At least a little bit.
I said, “Linda, are you arguing that stabbing people in the neck with a needle and injecting them against their will should be a misdemeanor?”
“Of course not. I’m just wondering if we could come to some sort of arrangement.”
Terri said, “We can arrange for your client to spend the next three to five years in prison. Unless we can pin a homicide charge on him, in which case he’ll spend a lot longer there.”
Sloan blurted out, “I swear to God I didn’t kill anyone. I just panicked when Detective Bennett was talking to me. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just…”
His attorney couldn’t shut him up. The lawyer barked, “That’s enough.” She followed it with a nasty look. It felt like if they were alone, she might have slapped him. I was on board with that.
Linda looked at us both and said, “Dr. Sloan would be willing to talk to you without any reservation. He’ll tell you everything you want to know about The Girlfriend Experience and anyone he knows connected to it. In return, we find a suitable assault charge instead of attempted murder.”
I leaned in and said, “And what can he tell us about The Girlfriend Experience?”
“Does that mean we have a deal?”
I remained silent while Terri gave the stink eye to Sloan. This was more enjoyable than watching TV in the evening. At least it was more compelling.
Chapter 83
AFTER SOME NEGOTIATION over the phone between Linda Beam and an assistant district attorney, we were all set to interview the veterinarian Thomas Sloan. Linda had done a good job of preparing him to answer quickly and honestly. She probably had to tell him a hundred times that nothing he said would get him in more trouble than he was already in. That was a hard concept for most people to comprehend. Especially one who’d never faced serious criminal charges before.
I established pretty quickly that Sloan didn’t know Allie Pritz. He didn’t know about how The Girlfriend Experience had been created or was administrated. And he didn’t know any of the three girls who had been murdered. He studied each photograph and was adamant that he had no knowledge about what happened to them.
Terri said, “How did you find out about The Girlfriend Experience in the first place? Where did you get a phone number to call?”
Sloan tried to brush his dirty hair out of his eyes. He was fidgety and seemed to have a hard time focusing. He gathered his thoughts and said, “A guy named Perry Martin used the service and gave me the phone number to call.”
I blurted, “Perry Martin, the football coach at the Wolfson Academy?”
Sloan gave me an odd look and said, “You know him?”
“I’ve met him.”
“He was my son’s football coach. He’s a fun guy. He went into great detail about how he tried to see one of the girls every few weeks during this time of the year. He said it helped focus him on Friday nights when he had to call plays.”
I groaned inside. How had we come to another possible suspect so quickly? It was starting to feel like an unending parade. I took a moment, then said, “When did the coach tell you this?”
Sloan shrugged. “I don’t know. The first time would’ve been over a year ago. Several of the fathers at the school talked about the service.”
I wrote down a few names Sloan gave us. I wasn’t sure how useful it would be but would have Walter Jackson run backgrounds on them.
“Did you ever use the service or just call it?”
His hesitation told me what the answer would be. I just wanted to hear the details.
Sloan said, “Yeah, I met a girl who went to a party with me thrown by a pet supply company. All the vets in northern New Jersey and New York were there. I think her name was Nicole.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing, really. She was a beautiful girl. Had long dark hair and a striking face. She was charming and stood by my side for three and a half hours.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“I, um…”
All I did was give a look at his attorney. She immediately gave him the standard speech that he had to be completely cooperative or there was no deal. She said no one cared about his personal life.
Finally, Sloan looked at me and said, “I tried to negotiate a price to sleep with her, but she claimed she never did that. I’m not sure I believed her.”
He told us a few more things he’d learned, but all I could do was sigh. We didn’t seem much closer to solving this case.
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I barely noticed Thomas Sloan start to cry.
Terri snapped, “What are you crying about?” She sounded like a mother who’d broken up too many fights between siblings.
Sloan shook his head and said, “I’m sorry. It’s just everything catching up to me.”
Terri didn’t hesitate. “You mean like stabbing people with syringes? You brought all this on yourself. Crying is for when you’re sad, not for when you’re just stupid.”
I thought that was a good place to end the interview.
Chapter 84
THOMAS SLOAN HAD given us three more names as part of his cooperation agreement. They were all fathers of students from the Wolfson Academy who had used The Girlfriend Experience. Walter Jackson worked on backgrounds for everyone. I was surprised to see one of the fathers from the Wolfson Academy, Charles Tassick, had a conviction for dealing cocaine from more than twenty years ago. Maybe that’s how he made enough money to get his son into the academy and to blow on The Girlfriend Experience.
I was gun-shy. I’d been wrong on this case too many times, and I didn’t want it to happen again. I wanted to learn as much as I could about each suspect quietly. That’s why I’d arranged to meet Michelle Finnegan, the secretary at the Wolfson Academy, at a McDonald’s on Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard and 139th Street.
McDonald’s could be a cop’s best friend. An office when needed. A quick meal if necessary. Whether with a witness, informant, or suspect, a McDonald’s is the right place to meet. The coffee is actually quite good. And no one bothers you if you’re sitting at a corner table in a McDonald’s.
Michelle Finnegan was already waiting for me as I walked into the McDonald’s. After I sat down with a couple of coffees, we chatted for a minute, then I showed her the names Sloan had given me. I appreciated how she studied the list so carefully instead of just giving me a quick answer.
I didn’t want to seem like an officious jerk, even if I was anxious to move on to questions related to my investigation. People say patience can’t be learned, but I’ve developed my patient streak over many years of hard work.
Michelle said, “I know the names, but I’ve never interacted with any of them. Though I think everyone on this list has a son on the football team.”
That eased me into my next line of questioning. I said, “How well do you know the football coach, Perry Martin?”
Her eyes darted up to meet mine. “He’s not calling that crazy phone line too, is he?”
I don’t like to give out information on a case no matter who I’m talking to. All I said was “I like to be thorough. He knows all these men personally. I only met the coach once, briefly. What do you think of him?”
Michelle smiled and said, “He is a genuinely nice man. And his wife is a sweetheart. They have two darling little blond kids. I think the boy is five and the girl is three.”
“Do you have any idea how much Coach Martin is paid?”
Michelle shrugged. “Even though the tuition is outrageous and we receive several donations from families, they don’t tend to pay employees that much. I like it because they work around my schedule. I can’t imagine the coach makes much more than me.”
As I made a note of that, Michelle said, “I’m not sure it means anything, but I know Coach Martin has been trying to get an assistant’s job in college football.”
“Really? Which school?”
“He applied to Syracuse and the University at Buffalo. I think it would be good for his family.”
We finished up and I was closing my notebook, getting ready to leave.
Michelle said, “I know it’s not any of my business, but I’m curious. Does this mean Jaden Banning isn’t a suspect anymore? I heard he’s being moved to a drug rehab facility. I never thought he was dangerous. Just confused and troubled.”
“Confused and troubled can often lead to violence. But I don’t think Jaden has anything to do with what I’m investigating. He was in the hospital at the beginning of the month and has an alibi.”
“I remember him missing a week at the beginning of the month. I think his father believes that by keeping him on a routine and at a strict school it will keep him out of trouble. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen that philosophy fail.”
I was surprised when Michelle gave me a quick hug before she headed out the door and up to her job in Bronxville.
Chapter 85
MY FIRST STOP after speaking with Michelle Finnegan was the Bronxville Police Department. The building might not have been as imposing as One Police Plaza, but it was convenient for the entire Village of Bronxville and therefore practical.
The reception area was about how I imagined it: quiet, clean, and empty. A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair sat behind the glass partition. As I stepped forward, he looked up and said, “May I help you?”
I flashed my badge and held open the ID so he could read it through the glass. At the same time, I said, “I was hoping I might talk to the detective who handles your intelligence files.”
The man laughed out loud. He sounded a little like a duck that someone had stepped on. Then he looked at me through the glass and said, “We can’t all be the NYPD or FBI. We don’t have an Intel unit. We have a detective sergeant and a detective. Between them, they try to keep track of everything.”
“Then can I speak to either of them?”
The man behind the glass smiled and said, “You already are. I’m Ed Horvath. I’m the detective. Our receptionist is also our evidence tech, and I’m just covering the desk for her for a few minutes.” He buzzed the door next to the reception area, and I stepped through. A moment later a tall Black woman marched into the back of reception and said, “Thanks, Ed.”
Detective Ed Horvath gave me a quick tour of the tiny station as we walked back to his cubicle. There were files and papers stacked on every possible surface. The way Horvath collapsed onto his chair told me he was a little overwhelmed.
Horvath sighed and said, “I should’ve been a gastroenterologist like my brother. Now he lives in Florida and can play golf year-round. I guess we both deal with our share of assholes. Still, Florida sounds nice.”
“Then who would keep the citizens of Bronxville safe?” I gave him a smile to let him know I was joking. He didn’t seem to care.
Horvath looked at me and said, “Every time a detective comes up from the city it means more work for me. Let’s cut through all the BS and you tell me what new assignment is going to spring from this visit.”
Police work employs all kinds of people. Smart, not so smart. Tough and gentle people. Ambitious people and people who regret getting into the profession in the first place. Every indication was that Ed Horvath had some regrets. But I couldn’t let that affect my case.
I handed him my list of four names and asked if he’d ever heard of any of them or if any were suspects in cases they were working.
I watched his bloodshot brown eyes scan the page. Then he jerked his head up and said, “Isn’t Perry Martin the football coach over at the Wolfson Academy?”
“Yeah, he is. Do you know him?”
Horvath shrugged. “I don’t think I ever met him. He’s got that team playing at a high level. Feels like he’s in the local paper every week in the fall. But we certainly don’t have any cases involving him. Is he a suspect in whatever you’re investigating?”
“You know how in big cases everyone is a suspect. I’m just trying to gather as much information as I can about any name that pops up.”
His eyes drifted back to the list of names. After another few seconds he said, “I know this one, William Tassick. I haven’t heard the name in years.”
“How do you know him?”
“We had a joint narcotics task force with the county and the smaller towns in the area. He was like the biggest dealer we all knew. None of us ever made a case on him. But the DEA snagged him for bringing a couple of kilos a week into Newark. I heard he supplied all of northern Jersey. I thought he was still in prison.”
