MOODROW STOOD IN THE entranceway of St. Vincent’s Hospital’s cafeteria and watched the four women seated around Styrofoam coffee containers at a far table. Leonora Higgins was there, of course, as sharp as ever in a no-nonsense charcoal business suit. He didn’t recognize any of the others, but he knew they were from the Haven Foundation, a committee met to evaluate his personal worth. It wasn’t the first time he’d been through the process. Having done just enough corporate work to be familiar with the politics of selection, he fully understood that his task was to reduce their choices to Stanley Moodrow or Stanley Moodrow.
Time for the show, he said to himself as he crossed the cafeteria floor. Time for the game face.
“Stanley.” Leonora stood up. She extended her hand, but refused to meet his eyes. “There are some people here you need to know. Margaret Cohen, Patricia Burke, and Toni Alicea. They’re from the Haven Foundation.”
Moodrow nodded to each in turn, wished, not for the first time, that he knew his client’s room number. He snatched a chair from a nearby table and sat down.
“Did you see Jim Tilley?” Leonora continued.
“I just left him.” He glanced at the women, saw no question marks on their faces, and assumed they’d been well briefed.
“What’s your take on the police effort?” Leonora was playing to his strengths. The way any good prosecutor would display a friendly witness.
“Except for Ann’s personal protection, they dropped the whole thing in Jim’s lap. No help and he’s expected to continue working his caseload while he looks for Jilly. Jim’ll put the word out to the patrol cops in the Seven, supply them with mug shots and a history, tell ’em to be on the lookout. Given the crime rate on the Lower East Side, that’s the best he can do.”
“That’s it?” Toni Alicea’s dark eyes flashed an obvious anger, just as Moodrow had hoped. She, like the other women, appeared to be in her mid-thirties. And, like the others, she was dressed for business.
“What could I say? The cops are running it as two assaults and a robbery. They’re leaving the kidnapping to the FBI, which is par for the course.” He didn’t mention Carol Pierce, figuring to pick his spots, leave it for later.
Alicea glanced at the other women before turning back to Moodrow. “That’s just not good enough,” she said.
“Look, Ms. Alicea.” He leaned toward her. “Theresa Kalkadonis has a better chance if the cops stay out of it. You have to understand something here. Jilly Sappone is a dead man and he knows it.” Moodrow went on to describe the Stuyvesant Town crime scenes, including the relationship between Carmine Stettecase, the two victims, and Jilly Sappone. “Carmine’s going to kill Jilly,” he concluded. “If he doesn’t catch Jilly on the outside, he’ll have him hit in prison. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Then why did Sappone do it? Is he suicidal? Is he crazy?”
Moodrow took a moment to consider the question. As far as he was concerned, Jilly Sappone had ceased to be human; something or someone had reduced him to the status of a natural disaster. In fact, Sappone reminded Moodrow of a crack-crazed psychotic named Levander Greenwood who’d once terrorized the Lower East Side. At the time, Moodrow recalled, he and Jim Tilley had thought of Greenwood as a force of nature. To be dealt with, but not hated.
“That’s the wrong question,” he finally announced. “Jilly Sappone’s gonna keep on killing. Like I just explained, the man has no reason to stop, no way out.” He leaned back, swept the table with his eyes. “The question you need to ask is this: What would Jilly Sappone do to Theresa Kalkadonis if, for instance, Jilly woke up from his afternoon nap to find ten or twenty well-armed cops massed outside his door?” He laid his palms on the table, paused for a moment. “I’m not trying to be dramatic here. Do what any cop would do. Run through the possibilities.”
“Excuse me.”
Moodrow turned to meet Patricia Burke’s sharp green eyes. He noted the clenched jaw, the slight underbite, the flaming cheeks. She was pissed, too, and that was just fine with him. That was why the bait had been cast in the first place.
“You seem to be telling us to give up.”
“Not at all.”
“No? Didn’t you just infer that Jilly Sappone will …” She hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath. “You said that he’ll kill Theresa before he’ll surrender.”
“Look.” Moodrow tightened his voice down, forcing Patricia Burke to lean into him in order to hear. “The odds are stacked against Theresa Kalkadonis. That’s the truth of it. But poor odds are no reason to give up. You have to accept your hand and find the best way to play the cards. One or two people have a better chance of surprising Jilly Sappone and his partner, of taking them down before they can hurt the child, than an army of by-the-book cops or FBI agents. Cops and FBI agents have to give suspects a chance to surrender.” He waited until Patricia Burke’s eyes told him she’d digested the information, then continued. “Besides,” he said, “I have an ace in the hole. I went to grammar school with Carmine Stettecase. I know he’s a man who can be persuaded to act in his own self-interest.”
Moodrow hesitated outside the door to Room 436. He knew what he was going to find inside, had stood at the hospital bedsides of hundreds of beating victims in the course of his career. Ann Kalkadonis’s face would be so badly swollen as to actually appear featureless, a dimpled balloon stretched to the point of bursting. By turns, the color of her skin would range from purple to red to green to a faded, sickly yellow. As if her face had been tie-dyed by Jilly Sappone’s fists.
“Stanley?”
Leonora Higgins was standing beside him. He’d wanted to interview Ann Kalkadonis by himself, but wasn’t surprised when the entire committee had insisted on coming along. Leonora had been the compromise.
“Gimme a second to get ready,” he said. The trick was not to let ordinary human pity stop you from asking the questions that had to be asked. Maybe all you wanted to do was mumble your condolences and get the fuck out, but the man paid you to be a detective and you couldn’t detect without information, therefore …
“All right,” he said, “let’s go.”
He nodded to the bored cop sitting beside the door, stepped inside, found no surprises. Ann Kalkadonis was awake, though probably drugged. Her face, as she slowly turned toward him, was every bit as grotesque as he’d expected. At least, the parts that weren’t bandaged.
“You got older,” she mumbled.
“Say that again?” He crossed the room, sat on the plastic chair beside her bed.
“You got older,” she repeated.
“I guess that means you remember me.” Moodrow crossed his legs, settled back in the chair. “Tell ya the truth, Mrs. Kalkadonis, I’m flattered.”
“I remember you from the fight.”
“That was a long time ago.” He looked up at Leonora and motioned for her to take the other chair, before explaining. “Once upon a time, Jilly and I had what cops like to call an altercation. It happened in a bar on Houston Street. Jilly was loud, as usual, sounding off about all cops being scumbag thieves. Me, I was off duty and too close to drunk to walk out. You could say I won the fight, being as how I was standing up when it ended. But the truth is that nobody wins a fight like that. I hurt for a week.”
Leonora nodded thoughtfully. She’d been setting up Moodrow’s punch lines for two days because she really believed that he was Theresa’s best chance. That didn’t mean she enjoyed being used. “Did he come after you? Later on?”
Moodrow shook his head. “Back then, you didn’t kill a cop.” He turned to Ann Kalkadonis. “I know you’re hurting, Ann, so I’ll try to keep it brief. After I finish, we’ll talk about what we’re gonna do.”
Slowly, with many pauses, they established a list of Jilly Sappone’s friends and relatives. The list, of course, was fifteen years old, the last time Ann Kalkadonis had had any contact with the family, but it was a place to begin. When they were finished, Moodrow leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.
“Have the feds told you about Jilly’s call?” He waited for a nod, then continued. “Jilly wants you in the apartment. He wants you to answer the telephone next time he calls. I need to know if you’re gonna go, if you’re gonna give Jilly a target?” The questions were purely rhetorical, Ann Kalkadonis having no choice in the matter. Moodrow received a nod, then continued. “If your other daughter, Patricia, is still in Boston, bring her back. There’s at least a chance that Jilly could find her. Just like he found Carol Pierce. Just like he found you.”
Leonora started to say something, but Moodrow motioned her into silence. “From what I hear, Ann, you want me to be your bodyguard. We both know that won’t work. I have to locate Jilly and I have to do it fast. The FBI has your apartment wired. They’ll stay with you twenty-four hours a day. The same goes for the New York cops.”
Ann Kalkadonis mumbled something that Moodrow didn’t catch. He leaned closer, asked her to repeat herself, then came up laughing.
“What did she say?” Leonora asked.
“She said, “I’m Sicilian. I don’t trust cops.’ ” He turned back to his client. “In this case, you’ve got the cops and the FBI agents to watch each other. Just make sure Patricia doesn’t decide to stroll through the neighborhood. If we’re careful, Sappone will never know she came back.”
Outside, in the hallway, Moodrow tried to think of a nice way to break the bad news. He’d gotten what he wanted, access to Ann Kalkadonis, and now the committee had to go. It was really that simple, but simplicity didn’t make it easier. Leonora was sure to be pissed off and he didn’t need that. Nevertheless, as the committee was waiting in the cafeteria, he plunged on.
“Hold up a minute, Leonora,” he said to her retreating back, “I’m not going down there with you.”
“Now what, Stanley?” She spun around, faced him with her shoulders squared. “What’s the game?”
“I’ve decided to take the case pro bono. That means the foundation is out. I’m not reporting to anybody but my client.” He folded his arms across his chest, absorbed the full force of Leonora’s glare.
“You know, you’re really a prick. I’ve been playing your game for the last two days.”
“And now it’s my turn to play yours?” He hesitated, searched for an inoffensive way to phrase what had to be said. “Look, those people have nothing to contribute. Nothing. I’m not putting them down, Leonora. They offered Ann refuge and that’s all to the good, but they can’t find Jilly Sappone. I just don’t have time for them.”
“That’s great, Stanley. I can see your reasoning. If you don’t want their money, they have no hold over you. But somebody’s got to tell them and if that somebody is me, I’m going to smack you so hard, you’ll forget about what happened to the back of your head.” She stared up at him through narrowed eyes. “It’s really that simple.”
It went better than Moodrow expected. He began by thanking the Haven Foundation for all they’d done on behalf of Ann Kalkadonis, then carefully explained that client confidentiality obliged him to report directly (and only) to Ann Kalkadonis. Even the cops had no real claim, though he fully intended to use them whenever necessary.
“Time is what it’s all about,” he concluded. “Days, maybe a week at the outside. I don’t wanna insult anybody, but I can’t be running off to meetings every afternoon.” He glanced down at his ancient windup Timex, a watch he’d dubbed “Old Reliable” because it stopped every morning and afternoon at 3:22. “In fact, if I hurry, I can still find Carmine at the Gemini Lounge. That’s where he spends his afternoons.”
Moodrow stood up before the protests could begin. “Leonora, you wanna walk me out? There’s something I need to ask you.”
Leonora, now more bemused than angry, told the other women to wait for her, that she’d be back, then quickly joined Moodrow as he made his way between the tables. “You did that very nicely,” she said. “Short and sweet.”
“Don’t worry, Leonora, you’ve still got them by the balls.”
“The balls?”
Moodrow pulled up short, stifled a giggle. “I’m gonna ask Jim Tilley to keep civilians out of Ann’s apartment. That means you’re the foundation’s only source of information. You oughta be able to work with that.” He took her by the arm. “You mentioned a private eye last night, said she worked with computers.”
“Ginny Gadd. I assume she’s out, too.”
“No, I need her. And I need you to do me a favor. I want you to give her a call, tell her I’ll be in touch later this afternoon.”
“First you insult me, then you ask a favor. Stanley, if I didn’t love you, I’d hate your guts.”
“Bullshit. You may be playing two games here, but you want Jilly Sappone as much as I do. That’s why you came to me in the first place.” He gave her a chance to deny it. When she didn’t, he continued. “I need a second favor, Leonora. Somebody has to go over to Ann’s apartment and check it for security.”
“She’s fourteen floors off the ground and there’s no fire escape. Unless Jilly learned to fly in prison …”
“Check the lock, make sure it’s shielded. The frame, too. I don’t want that lock punched out; I don’t want the door jimmied. The shades have to cover the windows completely and the lamps have to be up against the windows. No shadows, no silhouettes. I’d do it myself, but I have to catch Carmine before he goes home. Jilly’s aunt lives there and I’d bet my left testicle that she’s in touch with him.”