Brooklyn Body: The Madison Knox Brooklyn Mystery Series (Book 3) Read online

“She hasn’t given up, but, so far, she’s come up empty.”

  After thanking Max and wishing her good luck at Hunts Point tonight, I told Amy what she’d said. “Maybe I can call the hospital and find out if Winston was fired.”

  “Let me do it. You don’t want them finding out you’re a cop and word getting back to Corker that you’re snooping into things.” She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear. “Since Rosie’s striking out on the email address, maybe you could ask Salami Sam if he’s come up with anything.”

  I laughed. “I need to thank him for the flowers, so I’ll ask him.” Amy was looking at her phone as I spoke. “Anything interesting?”

  “Just a Who’s Who of the world’s biggest perverts.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My profile went public on GuySwatter last night.” She showed me a photo of a man on the dating site. “This is the kind of response I’m getting. The guy looks like the poster boy for Plastic Surgery World.”

  I’d glanced at the photo as I drove and drifted into another lane, causing someone in another car to honk at us. Amy saluted the driver with her middle finger and yelled at him, “Can’t you see we’re voting for People Magazine’s Ugliest Man Alive?” She dropped her phone in her purse, sighing. “I give up.”

  I gave her a moment, then said, “Maybe the dating site wasn’t the best choice.”

  She rubbed her temples, looked at me. “You got a better idea, genius?”

  I didn’t, but I sensed Amy’s desperation and knew I had to come up with something. “Let me ask Sam. Maybe he knows someone who’s single.”

  Amy perked up. “Really? You would do that?”

  “Of course.”

  She sat up straighter. “Thanks, Mads. Just so you know, if you were a guy, I’d be all over you right now.”

  I chuckled. “Thank God I’m not, and that I don’t have to post my mug on GuySwatter.”

  A half hour later, we met with Effie Blaze in her stylish living room, expensively furnished in a beach theme, something that contrasted with the freezing weather.

  After bringing over tea and cookies, Christina Blaze’s mother got down to business. “I’m really worried about my daughter. I found out something that confirms she was probably kidnapped.”

  “What’s that?” Amy asked.

  Blaze took a stack of papers out of a folder. “I’m on Christina’s bank accounts. I got curious about whether there’s been any recent activity.” She handed Amy the paperwork. “As you can see, two days ago the accounts were essentially emptied.”

  Amy took a moment to study the papers. “Does anybody else have access to her accounts?”

  Blaze shook her head.

  Amy handed me the paperwork, bumping my arm. “Ouch,” I said, pulling away.

  “What’s the matter?” Blaze asked.

  “My arm’s just been a little sore lately,” I said, taking the papers. “I probably need to have it checked.”

  “Let’s go back to the hospital when we’re done,” Amy said, then turned her attention back to Blaze. “You given any more thought to your daughter’s circumstances? Who might want to take her?”

  Blaze shook her head. “No, but I’ve been thinking about Gail. Maybe it would be worth talking to her again. She and Christina were very close.” She pushed her long brown hair back with one hand. “If something doesn’t turn up in the next twenty-four hours, I’m going to the police.”

  Amy nodded. “Just give me a call before you call the cops. I got a feeling something’s gonna break soon.”

  THIRTY

  “Do you really believe we’re close to finding out what happened to Christina?” I asked Amy as we left Effie Blaze’s apartment.

  “Nah, I was just making up shit.” When we got in my car, she continued. “To be honest, if something doesn’t give soon, I don’t think Christina’s mom has any choice but to go to the cops. And, if that happens, there goes my fee.”

  “Let’s go by and see Gail Walsh again. Maybe she’s thought of something that we’ve missed.”

  “What about your arm?”

  “It’s not like it’s going to fall off. We’ll go by the hospital afterward.”

  I let Amy drive and took the time to call Sam, thanking him for the flowers. “I’ve put them in a prominent place, right across from the freezers full of dead bodies.”

  I looked at Amy, who had her mouth open, reacting to what I’d said. I thought better of the attempt at humor and added, “Actually, the flowers are beautiful. Just like our weekend. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sam said. “Maybe we can have dinner this weekend, if you’re available.”

  “I’d love that.” We chatted for a couple minutes about a case he was working, before I brought up Amy’s case. “I was just wondering if you’ve had any luck tracing that email address I gave you.”

  “Actually, yes. I had our Cybercrimes people run it through their software. It comes back to a guy by the name of Harold Washington in the Bronx.”

  I jotted down the name and address, and then asked him about the other thing on my mind. “Anything new with Jeffers or my...with Donna Wallace?”

  “The BOLO’s out, but, so far, no sign of them. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

  I told him I would talk to him soon and ended the call. I then told Amy what he’d said.

  “So who the hell is Harold Washington?” she asked. “And why is he sending my client threats about Jeremy Mercer?”

  “Let’s turn around, head for the Bronx, and find out.”

  ***

  As it turned out, the address Sam had given me for Harold Washington was a well-known area of the Bronx. As Amy pulled over, and we surveyed the bridge leading to Rikers Island, she said, “You think somebody serving time was blackmailing Christina?”

  “So it would seem. I guess we need to find out if there’s an inmate inside named Harold Washington.” I pulled out my phone. “Give me a sec. The information is a matter of public record.” After a couple minutes, I said. “Harold Washington is doing a year for battery, but he’s not on the visitation schedule.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They allow visitors by the inmate’s last name. “Washington isn’t available until tomorrow.”

  “Damn. If we didn’t have shit for luck, our lives would be nothing but a big bucket of doo-doo,” Amy said, turning around.

  Since Mercy Hospital was on the way home, we decided to stop there so I could get my arm checked, and Amy could poke around. While she headed for the HR department to check on Grady Winston’s employment records, I made my way to Dr. Charleston’s office, which was across the parking lot, adjacent to the hospital. After explaining my situation to the receptionist, she was kind enough to work me into the doctor’s schedule. After a lengthy wait to see the doctor and going back to the hospital for an MRI, the doctor gave me his diagnosis.

  “When you were injured in the knife attack, the flexor tendon was nicked. It attaches to the hand and is the reason you’re having pain when you bend your wrist.”

  I exhaled. “I guess it’s just a matter of time and letting things heal then.”

  Dr. Charleston was in his sixties and reminded me of a disapproving father. “I’m afraid not, young lady. You’re going to need surgery.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Christina had waited for over an hour. The sounds in the house above her had stopped, and she had the impression the man who held her prisoner had left. She had gone over and pulled the mattress off the remnants of the bed frame, and slumped down, deciding she would have to wait for another opportunity. She fell asleep and didn’t awaken for several hours.

  “Billy Mercer was a special boy, someone with a wonderful gift.”

  The words came to her in a dream. Then she remembered they had been spoken by the minister at Billy’s funeral. She had insisted on going to the services. At first, Jeremy had refused to let her attend, telling her that Billy had made his own choice to end
his life. After hours of pleading, Jeremy finally relented, but told her that if she was going to the funeral, he would also be there.

  It had been a cold, blustery day. As the services ended, a heavy rain had begun falling. She remembered telling Jeremy that she was going to place a flower on Billy’s casket before it was lowered into the ground. Jeremy had said she was crazy and left, telling her he would meet her in the car.

  After he was gone, Christina remembered finding a white rose, which she’d taken over to the burial site. As the casket was being lowered, she’d tossed the rose onto Billy’s coffin, saying a prayer and apologizing to him and God for her failures.

  “He loved horses.”

  Christina had turned as she heard the voice beside her. There was a man next to her wearing a raincoat. She had tried to see his face, but it was obscured by the coat’s hood.

  “I’m sorry?” she said.

  The man didn’t look at her as he answered, but she caught a brief glimpse of his face. “Billy loved horses. He said they had a freedom that was denied to him. I just thought you might want to know that.”

  The man had turned and left as the minister said a few words more. She had no idea who he was.

  Christina’s eyes fluttered open as the dim images of the room where she was held prisoner returned. She hadn’t thought about that day in years. Who was the man who she had met at the gravesite? She had never seen him before that day, but thought he might have some relationship to Billy.

  A sound. Somewhere above her a door closed, and there was movement.

  Christina worked quickly, replacing the mattress on the bed frame, before grabbing the metal pole she planned to use as a weapon. She crouched low in the shadows of the darkened room, silently waiting.

  Several minutes passed before the door to her prison opened. She had the impression the man had tried to turn on the light at the top of the stairway, but failed. He then moved down the stairs, using a flashlight to illuminate the room.

  She shrank deeper into the shadows of the room as the man stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

  “There’s no use in hiding,” he said.

  Christina held her breath, knowing that at any moment, his light could wash over her and expose her. She rose, moving quickly and swinging her improvised weapon through the air. Two swings missed, but the third made contact with flesh and bone.

  The man screamed and went down. Christina stood over him, again bringing the metal club down with a frenzy that surprised her. When he stopped moving and was silent, she dropped her weapon. It clanked to the bare floor. The man’s flashlight had fallen and rolled across the room. She went over and retrieved it, illuminating her abductor.

  When Christina examined her fallen adversary, a shock overwhelmed her. She instinctively knew this wasn’t the man who had taken her, the one who had visited before. This was the man she’d seen at Billy Mercer’s funeral.

  But who was he?”

  THIRTY-TWO

  “You gotta have fuwking what?” Amy asked me, when I met her in the lobby of the hospital.

  I sighed, still trying to come to terms with what the doctor had told me. “Surgery. The doctor said if I don’t have it, I might never regain complete control of my wrist.”

  “What did I say earlier about what’s in that big bucket that is our lives? What you gonna do?”

  “I don’t have any choice. The doctor said I’ll be in a cast for a couple weeks after the surgery. After that, I’ll be in a splint and begin physical therapy. I probably won’t be back to work for at least a couple months.”

  Amy lobbed a few more f-bombs and looked around the hospital. “Let’s go have a beer and forget this place.”

  “Did you find out anything about Herman Evers?” I asked, as we left the hospital and walked to my car, remembering the psychologist that Holmes had told me about during his phone call.

  Amy shook her head. “No, but I did ask around about Grady Winston. He was a contract employee whose services were considered no longer required, but I bought a clerk a cup of coffee and got the lowdown.” We stopped for a moment, and Amy looked at me. “She said Winston was caught in possession of some unauthorized files.”

  “What kind of files?”

  “The clerk told me they were the medical records on three patients that died while in the hospital. She told me, off the record, that she thinks he was looking into how they died.”

  “Were the patients on the oncology ward?”

  A nod. “All of them were considered terminal and scheduled for transport to a convalescent hospital for hospice care.”

  “Until someone gave them an early exit.”

  “You got it.” Amy checked her phone. “Hey, I just got a text from the world’s biggest dope.”

  “Mojo?”

  “Yeah, he thinks he’s got something on Jeremy Halsey and wants to meet.”

  “Is he just trying to hit on you?”

  “If he is, I’m gonna hit back. With my fist. We both need a drink, so let’s meet him at Marlow’s.”

  ***

  Marlow’s Bar was one of those Brooklyn neighborhood watering holes that had been around for decades. It had a working-class feel and smell as Amy and I settled in at one of the tables away from the main bar. It was still early, with only a scattering of customers. A waitress came over, and we ordered beers while waiting for Mojo.

  “Did they ever find that Dexter mofo that sliced you open?” Amy asked after some chit-chat, probably thinking about my upcoming surgery. Our beers were delivered, and, after the waitress left, we clinked glasses, Amy saying, “Here’s to living in life’s crap bucket.”

  I sipped my beer, then answered the Dexter question. “Not as far as I know.” I set down my beer and exhaled. “Maybe it’s time I got out of law enforcement.”

  Amy had her glass still tipped up and nearly choked on what I’d said. She wiped the excess beer off her mouth. “Don’t be talking nonsense like that, Mads. You love your job. You just gotta find a way to get through this stuff that’s happening and put it all behind you.”

  “You’re probably right.” I saw that she was lost in thought. “Earth to Amy.”

  “Sorry.” She swirled the beer in her mug, but didn’t drink it. “I’m still trying to get my head around this Christina Blaze case.”

  “Maybe we should go back over what we know.”

  The waitress came over with a bowl of pretzels. We munched on them, as Amy began laying out the basics of her case.

  “A few days ago, I get a call from Christina Blaze. She’s a reporter that does a news segment on local TV, sometimes focusing on kids at risk. All Blaze tells me is that she’s being stalked, so we make arrangements to meet in the next couple days. Before that happens, Christina’s mom, Effie, calls me, telling me her daughter’s gone missing. As you know, we found her apartment had been tossed, probably when she was taken.”

  I took over. “Her mom eventually tells us that Christina was being blackmailed over something that happened to a kid named Billy Mercer when they were both in college about five years ago. And, according to Billy’s mom, he had special needs and was being harassed by a kid named Jeremy Halsey. Billy eventually committed suicide by jumping off a parking structure.”

  Amy worked on her beer again, then set it down. “And, as you know, I got a copy of one of the emails sent to Christina. Somebody, who we now know is a guy named Harold Washington, has been trying to blackmail her for a half-million bucks.”

  “And Washington’s in Rikers,” I said, wondering how an inmate serving time fit into our case.

  “I’ll have a beer. No, make it two.”

  We looked up, seeing Mojo giving his order to our waitress. He took a seat across from us, displaying his trademark lopsided grin.

  “I hope you don’t think you’re getting drunk on my dime,” Amy said, scowling at him.

  “Good evening to you, too,” Mojo said. He looked at me. “You’re looking fine, Madison.”

  My skin
crawled. “Thanks, I think. What’s the latest?”

  Amy’s employee munched on a pretzel. “I need some libation before I debrief my intel.”

  Amy raised her glass like she was going to dump what little beer was left in it on Mojo’s head. “I’ll show you libation. Start talking.”

  As luck, or happenstance, would have it, Mojo’s two beers were served. He downed half the first one, smacking his lips. “Now that’s what the doctor ordered.”

  Amy locked eyes with him, making a dumping motion with her beer again. “Mads and me are waiting, and we ain’t waiting much longer.”

  “Okay, okay.” He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. “I got a source who I put on finding Jeremy Halsey. Halsey lives in a flat over in Hoboken with a guy named Harry. According to my source, he works as a cook in some dive called...” He fished into his pocket and brought out an envelope. “The place is called Alice’s. I think they serve burgers and sandwiches.”

  Amy studied him. “You sure about this?”

  Mojo took a swig of his beer, held up a dirty left hand. “I swear on my mother’s grave.”

  “You probably murdered your mother.”

  He burped. “That was a low blow. By the way, I need a hundred bucks to pay my source.”

  Amy rolled her eyes, looked at me. “What do you think?”

  I looked at Mojo. “This guy Harry who Halsey lives with, did you get a last name?”

  I got a headshake. “No, but, according to my source, he’s in and out of jail.”

  A light went on as I looked at Amy. “Harold Washington?”

  “Could be.” She looked at her employee. “What else?”

  Mojo had finished his first beer and was hoisting the second. He shrugged. “That’s it.”

  Amy opened her purse and pushed two twenties across the table. “That’s for your source, even though I got a feeling I’m looking at him. And, if you’re scamming us, I’m gonna beat you with an ugly stick.” Her eyes bore into him. “Even though somebody already beat me to it.”