Four Walls

10

STELLA HAD ALREADY TAKEN an instant dislike to Jack Morgenstern, and she found that she could easily extend that sentiment to his lawyer.

Courtney Bracey was a very attractive woman: pale skin, short dark hair, perfect teeth, a cleft chin, and penetrating brown eyes. She wore an Armani suit that practically advertised how expensive it was.

Morgenstern, though, didn't bother dressing up. He was wearing a red T-shirt with what looked to Stella like a Southwestern Indian design in black on the chest, black jeans, and black Rockports. His long brown hair was tied back in a ponytail.

"My client," Bracey said as soon as the two detectives entered the interrogation room, "is willing to cooperate with you up to a point. If at any stage it looks as if he is being accused of a crime, I will end this interview until such time as you place my client under arrest."

"By the way," Morgenstern said, "nice touch coming in twenty minutes after our appointment was for. Courtney wanted me to get up and walk out after five, but I'm in a good mood today."

"The delay was unavoidable," Angell said as she sat down. "We-"

Morgenstern held up a hand. "Spare me. I know all the techniques-you let the perp stew in his own juices for a while before coming to talk to him, figuring the boredom might drive him to talk. Bravo, you learned Interrogation Technique Number One. Let's move on, okay?"

Stella shot Angell a this is gonna be fun look.

"Are you aware of the fact that Maria Campagna is dead?"

Looking confused, Morgenstern said, "No, but that's mostly by virtue of not having the first clue who Maria Campagna is."

"She was one of the young women who worked at Belluso's Bakery."

Now his face fell, his eyes growing wide. His surprise certainly seemed genuine. The majority of killers were dumb as posts and bad actors, but Stella had met plenty of good fakers on the job, too.

"Jesus, Maria? She's dead?"

"Yes."

"Oh my God. I-I didn't know her last name, but-"

Angell took out some of Lindsay's crime scene photos. Unsurprisingly, she'd chosen the grisliest of them. "Someone strangled her. Someone wearing a black sweatshirt. Someone who went into Belluso's just before closing time."

Morgenstern refused to look at the pictures. "I really don't need to see that, and I don't appreciate Interrogation Technique Number Two, either." Now he seemed to be over the surprise. "Oh, and for the record, yes, I was wearing a black sweatshirt last night. So was half of New York."

"So you knew the victim?" Angell asked.

"Yes. Maria was a friend of mine."

"So good a friend," Stella said, "that you don't know her last name?"

"Believe what you want. I went into Belluso's all the time, but it was all first names. I don't think any of the people there know my last name, either."

That was actually true-O'Malley only knew it because he had Morgenstern's business card-but Stella saw no reason to share that.

Angell said, "Witnesses saw you going into Belluso's right before closing."

"I assume by witnesses you mean Annie, since the only people who saw me were her and Maria."

"Answer the question," Angell said tartly.

Bracey was equally tart. "You didn't ask one, Detective, you made a statement. If you ask a question, my client will be happy to respond to it."

"All right, then, how much is he paying you to be a pain in my ass?"

Her eyes flickering over Angell's T-shirt and jeans, Bracey said, "More than you could afford, I'm sure."

"Saucer of milk, table one," Stella muttered.

"I'm sorry, Detective?" Bracey said.

"Never mind."

Morgenstern, Stella noticed, was smiling and leaning back in his chair-and then he winced. She recalled how stiffly he was walking when she and Angell saw him at his house earlier.

"Mr. Morgenstern," she said, "why were you coming into Belluso's so late?"

"I just got out of fighting class. I take karate at a dojo that's just around the corner from Belluso's-it's called Riverdale Pinan Karate." He smiled. "Pinan is Japanese for 'peace and harmony,' by the way."

"So naturally," Stella said, "you take fighting classes there."

"A great way to achieve peace and harmony is to blow off steam, Detective."

Stella couldn't actually argue with that-she'd abused many a punching bag in her time after a particularly stressful day.

Morgenstern went on: "I'm usually dehydrated after class, and the dojo only sells Gatorade, which I can't stand. So I come into Belluso's and get a bottle of water. I saw Annie leaving, and Maria was behind the counter. I asked for water, she gave it to me, I paid for it, I left."

"Did you like Maria, Mr. Morgenstern?" Angell asked.

"Sure. I like all the women who work there. I flirt with them all the time-it's fun. Part of the atmosphere."

"You do know that many of them are underage, right?"

Bracey tapped a finger on the table. "Don't even think about going there, Detective. This department has already tried to make my client into a rapist-you try making him into a pedophile, and he'll be able to buy a much bigger house this time. Stick with what happened on the night of Ms. Campagna's death."

"Fine," Stella said. "Did you flirt with Maria last night?"

"Probably." Morgenstern shrugged. "I honestly don't remember. I was exhausted."

"So you don't remember getting into a fight with her? Maybe her punching you?"

"What?"

Bracey started, "Detective-"

But Stella barged on. "How'd you hurt your ribs?"

"Senpai John kicked me in the ribs. He's seventeen years old and doesn't know his own strength, and I didn't block his side kick in time."

Angell smiled. "You got beat up by a teenager?"

"A teenager who's a black belt, Detective, that's why I call him 'Senpai John.' The word senpai is Japanese for 'senior student.' He's been taking karate since he was four. I've been taking karate since I turned thirty-five, and I'm only a green belt. He's just a little bit better at it than I am-for now."

Stella reached into her bag and took out her Nikon. "I'm going to need to take pictures of any bruising on your chest. If you want to make this difficult, I'll get a warrant-we're already getting one for your apartment, so…"

Morgenstern and Bracey exchanged glances. Bracey said, "I don't think it's a good idea."

"They're getting a warrant anyhow," Morgenstern said with a shrug. "She brought her camera and everything." He lifted his shirt.

The beginnings of bruises were forming over Morgenstern's sternum. No obvious impressions from a fist, but the Nikon's resolution was a lot better than Stella's eyes. They'd examine the photo in the lab.

As she took the pictures, Stella asked, "Do you wear protective gear in fighting class?"

"Yeah. Boxing gloves over wrist wraps, full headgear, foot protection, jockstrap. I usually wear shin guards, too, and some of the women wear chest protectors."

Once she was finished photographing and Morgenstern lowered his shirt, Stella said, "We'll also need your clothes from last night."

"You're welcome to them, but I already washed them-and before you start screaming 'smoking gun!' at me, I was sweating like a stuck pig last night. As soon as I walked in the door, I tossed my clothes and my gi into the washer."

"Ghee?" Stella asked.

Angell answered. "His karate uniform."

"Is there anything else, Detectives?" Bracey asked.

"Not yet," Angell said, "but after we search your house, we may have more questions."

"Assuming you get the warrant," Bracey said, "that's fine."

"They'll get the warrant," Morgenstern said dismissively. "There's hundreds of judges in the city-at least one of them has to owe one of these two a favor. Besides, their probable cause actually doesn't suck too badly."

"Gee, thanks," Stella said.

"I'll be present when you serve the warrant," Bracey said as she and Morgenstern rose to their feet.

"Thanks for the warning," Angell said with a sweet smile.

After they left, Angell looked at Stella. "Whaddaya think, Stell?"

"I think we need to take a trip back up to Riverdale and talk to the people at Riverdale Pinan Karate, and see if we can get a piece of footgear. I want something to compare those bruises to."

"Yeah, and I want to talk to this Senpai John kid."

"To verify his story?"

Angell nodded. "And if he really did kick that jackass in the ribs, to shake his hand."

"Oh yeah," Stella said.

"I'm liking this guy more and more for our killer," Angell continued. "He washed the clothes-and he knows procedure enough that he knows it's suspicious, but it's also reasonable for him to have done so after a fighting class." She smiled. "I love perps like him-they think they're smarter than they really are. Makes it that much more fun to take them down."

"Assuming it is him," Stella said. "The only trace we've found so far is the world's most generic fiber."

"Well, we'll see what happens when we toss his house-not to mention when you guys get the results back on her bruises."

A uniform stuck his head in the door. "Detectives, I got a guy here, says he has an appointment-Robert DelVecchio?"

"Yeah." Angell brightened. "Show him in."

DelVecchio was a tall man with no discernible neck and a barrel chest that would've been more impressive without the developing beer gut. Stella figured him to be in his early twenties, yet his brown hair was already showing the beginnings of male pattern baldness. He was wearing a T-shirt with the words MT. ST. VINCENT FOOTBALL emblazoned on the front and knee-length white shorts, revealing tree-trunk-sized legs. Stella knew the type: school jock whose glory days were already in the rearview mirror.

"Mr. DelVecchio? I'm Detective Angell, this is Detective Bonasera."

"Pleased to meet ya." DelVecchio was holding a sheaf of papers in his hands, which he plunked down on the table before he sat down. "Here's your murderer. Find this guy, you find who killed Maria."

Stella picked up the papers. They were all letters addressed to Maria, but unsigned. All were printed on a laser or ink-jet printer of some sort. "Who sent these?"

"Hell if I know. That's why I brought them to you people."

Angell muttered, "Knew this was too good to be true."

"Look, all I know is, it was someone at Belluso's."

"How do you know that?" Stella asked.

"'Cause that's what Maria told me. She said it was no big deal, but I knew this guy was nutsy-cuckoo, y'know?" He slapped one meaty hand on the table. "I kept trying to get her to quit that damn place, but would she listen? That girl had a mind of her own, y'know?"

"Yeah, I hate when that happens," Angell said dryly. "When did the letters start coming?"

"I'm not sure. I only found out about them a couple weeks ago, and she wouldn't tell me when it started, but I figure at least six months. She's been at Belluso's eight months, so it couldn't have been more than that."

Stella started reading one of the letters aloud. "'Dear Maria. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways that I could love you. Number one-'"

"Do you have to read that out loud?" DelVecchio asked plaintively.

Flipping to the next one, Stella said, "He misquotes Shakespeare on the next one, too." She started riffling through them. "Ooh, he does a haiku here-and the next one's got a detailed description of what he wants to do to her in the bakery bathroom."

"It's disgusting!" DelVecchio cried.

"Can we keep these?" Stella asked.

DelVecchio recoiled. "I sure as hell don't want them."

"Do you have any guesses who it might be?"

"How the hell should I know? I mean, sure, there were lots of guys who went in there, and Maria's a hottie, y'know? If she wasn't already my girl, I'd have been hitting on her too. But I didn't know none of those guys. I don't like those kinds of places-too froofy. Gimme a Starbucks any day of the week."

"So noted. While you're here, Mr. DelVecchio," Stella said, "we're going to need some blood and DNA-if you don't mind."

DelVecchio shrugged. "Why should I mind? You do that, you can eliminate me as a suspect, right?"

Relieved, Stella took out her kit. DelVecchio had struck her as the type who would give her a hard time about it just on general principles. "Exactly."

"If it makes it easier to find Maria's killer, I'll give you my left arm."

Angell asked DelVecchio a few more general questions while Stella took his blood and swabbed his cheek. Then he left.

After he was gone, Stella thwapped the letters into a neat pile and said, "I'm gonna take these letters to the lab to see if we can trace the provenance of the printer that made it."

"Good luck."

She snorted. "We're gonna need it. Handwriting you can trace. Even typewriters would sometimes have something distinctive about different models-especially the old manuals, they went off-kilter when you looked at them funny. But printers? They're mass produced. There might be DNA on the more recent ones, though."

"Let's hope so," Angell said.