Fairstein, Linda - Final Jeopardy (34 page)

“Enter,” I said, trying my best to be cheerful, knowing that this visit was uncharacteristically overdue, given my tangential involvement in the death of a movie star.

“Anything new?”

“All quiet, Mickey. Nothing to report.”

“No, I mean, off the record.” Right. There was no such animal as ‘off the record’ for Mickey Diamond.

“I’m not kidding. I’ve got nothing for you, really.”

“Did you see ”Page Six“ today?” he asked, referring to the Post’s gossip column.

“Nope.” I hated to admit it, but I usually bought the tabloid because so many of the office stories were covered in it. The last few years, the Metro section of the Times, which used to be too classy to report on all the city’s sex and violence, now read like the tabs on any given day.

“Johnny Garelli’s in town for the Lascar investigation.

Says he was at Rao’s with an unidentified blonde last night. Probably a starlet or hooker. Thought maybe you’d as know who she is, give me a scoop. Chapman and Peterson jer must keep you on top of things.“ he Could he tell I was blushing?

“I’m out of the loop on this st one, Mickey. Just a witness.” He smiled that impish grin that usually worked on me.

“C’mon, it’s really slow. Haven’t you got anything for me?”

Unfortunately, the subject matter of my cases was prime fodder for Diamond’s stories, and every available space in the tiny courthouse press office was literally papered with headline stories that he proudly called his “Wall of Shame.”

I had been a cover girl in more of those tales than I cared to count.

“Get out of here before Battaglia sees you with me and thinks I leaked something to you. Scoot.”

“Just give me a quote on the murder case, something I can use as an exclusive, please?”

“Are you out of your mind? I want to keep my job, I honestly do, Mickey.”

“Can I make up something, like how bad you feel about I Isabella? I promise it’ll be tasteful.” I I picked up my box of Kleenex and threw it across the room at him, laughing at that prospect. Frequently throughout the last three or four years, before I could even ask Battaglia for permission to talk to any of the reporters about a case or an issue a firm office rule Diamond would have some pearls of wisdom, in quotation marks, attributed to me. Even the District Attorney had stopped berating me and come to realize I was not guilty but that Mickey had simply fabricated the statement, trying to keep it consistent with what he thought my views would be on a given subject.

“Hey, you owe me. My editor wanted me to do a story about you and Jed Segal. Even had a headline: ”THE LEGAL MISS WHO MISSES KISSES,“ but I refused-‘ I was out of my chair and making my way toward the door in a flash. ’I’ll break your fucking neck if you even think about a story like that.”

“Easy, easy,” he said, putting his hands on top of his head, as if to shield himself from a strike by me.

“Don’t be so sensitive, I was only joking.” He backed out past Laura’s desk.

“City desk’s Working on an anonymous tip. D’ya hear that Garelli killed a guy once, when he was in the Marines?

Not the enemy, I mean one of his buddies. Beat him into a coma over nothing an insult the other guy threw at him.

Guy died four months later in a military hospital. We’re trying to check it out before anybody goes with it in print.

Hear anything like that?“

“No, I haven’t heard a word about it,” I responded, shaking my head in amazement. Not one of the things Johnny had chosen to confide in me, but that was hardly surprising.

Mickey left me with a last effort at a story line: “Call me if you get anything decent. My imagination isn’t as sharp as it used to be. I’m not so good at creative writing anymore.”

I called Mark Acciano to see how late the judge had kept the jury working last night.

“They deliberated till almost midnight, then he sent them to the hotel.
Started again at nine-thirty this morning.”
“Could you get any sense of the split?” ey “Nah. They all just looked tired and grumpy by the time he dismissed them. Impossibleto tell what the problems were.” as “Any guessing from the court officers?”
;er Although it wasn’t cricket, if the court officers liked the he lawyers, they often reported back what they could hear of st the arguments from their stations outside the door of the er locked jury rooms. If the twelve were fighting like cats and dogs it was one thing, and quite another if eleven were ganged up against one.

“Not a whisper. I’m going up to sit it out in the courtroom.

I’ll let you know what happens. And, Alex, thanks a lot for your advice about the summation. I never would have thought to put all that detail in, but I think it helped a lot.

Your notes were a godsend.“

“That’s what I’m here for. Go get him.”

Laura buzzed me.

“Dr. Mitchell’s secretary just called.

Said to tell you he’s going to see Jed in his office at seven-thirty tonight, and that you’d know what it’s all about.“

“Yes, Laura, I do. Be right back, I’m going for a refill.”

I was on my way next door to the Legal Hiring Office, which kept fresh coffee going all day to impress the applicants who applied for positions in Battaglia’s office by the thousands every year. When I returned with a steaming cupful, Laura was standing at the side of her desk.

“It’s Mercer, I’ve got him on hold. It’s urgent.”

I picked up Laura’s phone.

“Yeah?”

“Coop, it’s almost over.”

I had to think for a minute to realize that he wasn’t talking about Isabella’s case.

“What happened?”

“An attempt this morning. Two blocks away from the last hit. M.O. was identical same approach, same description, same language. Woman lets the guy in the house, he’s got the knife. Only surprise was that her husband was in the bedroom. The husband hears a commotion and comes into the kitchen, Mr. William Montvale gets so shook up he drops everything and runs out the door.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re losing me. Who’s William Montvale? The husband?”

“No, no, Miss Cooper. Stay with me. The man we have been looking for is William Montvale, otherwise known to the local media as the Con Ed rapist. Not only was this morning’s attempt at a rape unsuccessful, much to the delight of the intended victim, but I am calling personally to tell you that the NYPD has solved this pattern, just for you, kid.”

“I know you’re going to explain this to me, Mercer, right?”

“Make me a promise, Coop. No dates for the next seventy hours, okay?
No champagne dinners, no trips out of town.

As soon as I get my hands on Montvale, I’ll be calling or beeping you, no matter what time of day or night, so you can run the line-ups and do the Q and A. Will that make you happy?“

“Delirious, Mercer.”

“Now, what you want to know is how I know the rapist is William Montvale. Is that your question, Counselor? And the answer is, the usual brilliant detective work that you associate with me and my crew, with a dash of ahem shall we say, great good luck. Make that incredible good luck. The way most crimes are solved, Alex.”

“Tell me what happened.” My heart was pounding at the idea of catching this maniac and putting an end to his little ey reign of terror before any other woman was victimized. on “When the husband came out of the bedroom, Montvale let go flustered that he let go of his knife. He bent over as to pick it up but the newspaper he was carrying in his back rer pocket got caught under the countertop and fell to the floor, too. Either he didn’t notice or he was happy just to hang on to the knife, in case he needed it to fight his way out. By the ier time the couple called their doorman, Montvale had run down the staircase and out the rear service door. Gone.

“The people were so shaken they just sat in the living room holding on to each other till uniformed responded to the 911 call. That’s when the first cops on the scene saw the Post on the kitchen floor and picked it up.”

“There’s a scoop for Mickey Diamond. Most rapists prefer the New York Post. Hope his editor likes it. Go on.”

“Cop asks the couple if the paper was theirs. They say no. It had been rolled up to fit in the guy’s pocket, so the cop unrolls it. In it, there’s a letter from the New York State Department of Parole addressed to one William J. Montvale, inviting him to come to their offices at three o’clock this afternoon and bring his birth certificate as proof of identification. Seems he just got out of state prison in New Jersey, and they agreed to transfer his parole to New York, so he could move back in with his beloved mother.”

“Make my day tell me what he did the time for in Jersey.”

“I’m trying to keep you happy, Coop. Your instincts were right all along. Four counts of rape, Bergen County. You just couldn’t come up with him ‘cause his priors weren’t in New York. Got a release to early parole because he was in that treatment center in the Jersey system, you know the one I mean?”

“Yeah, Mercer. That one where they rehabilitate rapists.

Then they send ‘em back to us all cured and well behaved, like William Montvale.“

“This guy’s a real pro. I’ll find him for you, Coop, but then you got to put him out of business forever. Is it a deal?”

“Blood oath, Mercer. What’s the plan?”

“We got a stakeout in front of his mama’s place, but once he realizes he dropped those papers, I doubt he’ll show there or at the parole office today. They’re covered just in case. We got a team checking the Jersey prison files, looking for visitors’ names, girlfriends, cousins, cellmates anybody he might run to for a place to crash. Then we’ll fan out to all the shelters and see if they got any ”John Does“ showing up today. You know I’ll get his ass. Just stick with me and I’ll hand you a lock-solid case.”

I knew he would. Nobody could do it better.

“I’m here, and I’ll have the beeper on day and night. Whatever you need, just let me know.”

‘I’ll be in touch. Keep your fingers crossed.“

I called Rose Malone and asked her to tell Battaglia that we had a big break in the case, then told Sarah Brenner to be ready to cover me for the next few days in case I got tied up on the Montvale arrest. She offered to do my two witness interviews scheduled for the afternoon, knowing that it would be difficult for me to concentrate while I was primed to rush up to the Special Victims office the minute Mercer called.

My counterpart in the Bergen County Prosecutor’s Office had been helpful to me in the past, so I reached out for him again and asked him to pull the closed case files on the suspect, just to see whether there was any other nexus ? to Jersey that might be useful. Don’t cross the Hudson, I urged Montvale silently. I don’t want to deal with the delays of an extradition proceeding I just want to grab you here, let these women have a chance to confront you and put you behind bars till you outlive the ability to do this to anybody else.

Another lunch at my desk, this time consisting of a ; container of light yogurt and a seltzer. I checked Mercer’s office every half-hour, but the entire squad was out in the field and the civilian aide who was handling the phones didn’t know which end was up.

Shortly after two, Laura buzzed me to announce that we had a walk-in.
The last thing I needed right now was a witness without an appointment, but that’s exactly what I had. I couldn’t pass her off to Sarah, whose hands were already full with my overflow. Angela Firkin had presented herself to the lobby security officer with a crumpled piece of paper that had my name printed on it, along with the address of the building.

I invited her into my office and seated her opposite me.

“How did you get my name, Miss Firkin?” I asked, as I took out a fresh pad to begin to make notes of our conversation.

“I called the crisis hot line, told them my problem, and they told me to come talk to you.”

“I see. Did anybody mention reporting to the police first?”

“I can’t go to the police, Miss Cooper. I appreciate your seeing me without an appointment, but I was very upset and I just couldn’t go to a police station. This is a situation about a man in an official uniform, and I’m just not comfortable talking to the police.”

“All right,” I said, after getting the pedigree information I needed, ‘why don’t you tell me what happened?“

Angela Firkin was a twenty-eight-year-old woman who lived alone in a brownstone in the East Eighties. She supported herself on disability insurance and a modest inheritance, but was unable to work because she had a long history of treatment for schizophrenia.

“I don’t go out much, just walking for some exercise in the neighborhood, and getting my groceries. Almost everything else I do by mail order, by sending away for things.

“A couple of weeks ago, our regular mailman had a heart attack and we got a new guy. I have to see him a lot, ‘cause some of the things that I order are too big for the mailbox.

My book club delivery, my home shopping network things, you know.“

“Sure.”

“Well, this new guy started off fine. Then, one day, when he rang the doorbell to give me a package, he told me the Post Office had new rules. Said it was because of all the trouble the government was having with drug smugglers and, um, I think the word he called it was ”contraband.“ He told me I had to open the wrapping in front of him, so he could see what was in the box. It was just a pair of cubic zirconia earrings I ordered for myself for sixteen dollars, so I showed it to him.

“A few days later, he did the same thing with my mystery book order, even though it had a return address and everything, from the book club.”

She was telling the story easily, in a coherent narrative, so I let Angela go on without interruption.

“Then the guy, his name is Oscar Lanier it’s right on his name tag the guy comes back this Monday they with another delivery for me. This time it’s some pills, : on but over-the-counter stuff From ABC Vitamin Company. I’m on a lot of medication for my well, you know, my , as condition but I also sent away for some vitamins. So Oscar says, ”I have to search you before I let you have this the package.“ est ”I said, “What? I never heard of this before.” He said, her “New rules, I told you, new Post Office rules. I’m sure you’re okay, but it’s gotten very dangerous to go into people’s homes these days. They’re doing this to protect us.”