quadrant,’ Laurie said.
‘It’s sounding better and better,’ Jack said. ‘What’s the victim’s
name?’
‘No name,’ Laurie said. ‘In fact, that will be part of your challenge.
The head and the hands are missing.’
Laurie handed Jack the folder. He leaned on the edge of the desk and
slid out the contents. There wasn’t much information. What there was
came from the forensic investigator, Janice Jaeger.
Janice wrote that the body had been discovered in the Atlantic Ocean way
out off Coney Island. It had been inadvertently found by a Coast Guard
cutter which had been lying in wait under the cover of night for some
suspected drug runners. The Coast Guard had acted on an anonymous tip,
and, at the time of the discovery, had been essentially dead in the
water with their lights out and radar on. The cutter had literally
bumped up against the body. The presumption was that it was the remains
of the drug runner/informer.
‘Not a lot to go on,’ Jack said.
‘All the more challenge,’ Laurie teased.
Jack slipped off the desk and headed for the communications room en
route to the elevator. ‘Come on, grouchy!’ he called to Vinnie. He gave
Vinnie’s paper a slap and his arm a tug as he passed. ‘Time’s a
wasting.’ But at the door he literally bumped into Lou Soldano. The
detective lieutenant had his mind on his goal: the coffee machine.
‘Jeez,’ Jack commented. ‘You should try out for the New York Giants.’
Some of his coffee had sloshed out onto the floor.
‘Sorry,’ Lou said. ‘I’m in sorry need of some Java.’
Both men went to the coffeepot. Jack used some paper towels to dab at
the spill down the front of his corduroy jacket. Lou filled a Styrofoam
cup to the brim with a shaky hand, then sipped enough to allow for
plenty of cream and sugar.
Lou sighed. ‘It’s been a grueling couple of days.’
‘Have you been partying all night again?’ Jack said.
Lou’s face was stubbled with a heavy growth of whiskers. He had on a
wrinkled blue shirt with the top button undone and his tie loosened and
askew. His Colombo-style trench coat looked like something a homeless
person would wear.
‘I wish,’ Lou grunted. ‘I’ve seen about three hours of sleep in the last
two nights.’ He walked over, said hello to Laurie, and sat down heavily
in a chair next to the scheduling desk.
‘Any progress on the Franconi case?’ Laurie asked.
‘Nothing that pleases the captain, the area commander, or the police
commissioner,’ Lou said dejectedly. ‘What a mess. The worry is, some
heads are going to roll. We in Homicide are starting to worry we might
be set up as scapegoats unless we can come up with a break in the case.’
‘It wasn’t your fault Franconi was murdered,’ Laurie said indignantly.
‘Tell that to the commissioner,’ Lou commented. He took a loud sip from
his coffee. ‘Mind if I smoke?’ He looked at Laurie and Jack. ‘Forget
it,’ he said the moment he saw their expressions. ‘I don’t know why I
asked. Must have been a moment of temporary insanity.’
‘What have you learned?’ Laurie asked. Laurie knew that prior to being
assigned to Homicide, Lou had been with the Organized Crime unit. With
his experience, there was no one more qualified to investigate the case.
‘It was definitely a Vaccarro hit,’ Lou said. ‘We learned that from our
informers. But since Franconi was about to testify, we’d already assumed
as much. The only real lead is that we have the murder weapon.’
‘That should help,’ Laurie said.
‘Not as much as you’d think,’ Lou said. ‘It’s not so unusual during a
mob hit that the weapon is left behind. We found it on a rooftop across
from the Positano Restaurant. It was a scoped 30-30 Remington with two
rounds missing from its magazine. The two casings were on the roof.’
‘Fingerprints?’ Laurie asked.
‘Wiped clean,’ Lou said, ‘but the crime boys are still going over it.’
‘Traceable?’ Jack asked.
‘Yeah,’ Lou said with a sigh. ‘We did that. The rifle belonged to a
hunting freak out in Menlo Park. But it was the expected dead end. The