Black Midnight Page 5

  Any detective in all of Citywide was being put at her disposal. No questions asked. Then why not opt for the best — if she could get him. A unit of four didn’t leave much room to play with. She trusted her life with Link, as she was sure he did with her. Spinrad was about as good as she’d get from a stranger. That left only one choice. When in doubt a cop always turns to her partner. She wasn’t aware of her quickening heartbeat as she said, ‘There is one detective I know I can rely on. We think alike.”

  “As I said, I’ll pull the strings.”

  “I’m told he’s on duty leave — and I won’t force him back if he doesn’t want the assignment.”

  “Up to you, DiPalma.” He wrote down Spinrad’s name and waited for the next.

  “Homicide again, Captain Winnegar. Detective Warren Resnick.”

  “Hello, Yvonne.”

  V

  Yvonne looked up and smiled. A lump rose in her throat as she saw him, and she couldn’t hide the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, didn’t try to. He seemed almost exactly the same. Maybe a little more salt sprinkled into the salt and pepper hair, a few more pounds around the middle. Otherwise, it was as though she’d seen him yesterday.

  “It’s good to see you, Warren,” she said walking toward him. For a moment she felt awkward, began to extend her hand. He gave her one of his impish smiles, and they briefly embraced. He held both her hands at half-arm’s length. “You look good, DiPalma,” was all he said.

  “I look awful.” She sniffed and grinned.

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long.” Suddenly she felt a little embarrassed. His appearance had made her momentarily forget that others were in the room. “How’s Karen?” she asked.

  “Doing really fine. She even went back to night school, now that the kids are getting bigger.”

  A boy and a girl, bright and beautiful children. The kind of family Yvonne had always dreamed of. She realized she was still more than a little envious of Karen Resnick.

  “I, er, apologize for pulling you off leave, Warren. I never would have dreamed of it if it hadn’t been anything but an emergency like this. I need people I can trust and rely on.”

  “No hard feelings. I was beginning to get restless anyway.” He shrugged. “Civilian life isn’t all that it’s supposed to be. Besides, my leave was due up in a few weeks.” He glanced at her gold badge, smiled. There was no jealousy, just pride. “I’ve been hearing good things about you. Must be true. Seems you even outrank me.” She laughed. “Apply for a transfer to TTF.” She was clearly proud of her job and her enhanced role. The old DiPalma he knew.

  “No, I don’t think I’d do that. But I accepted this assignment because I really wanted to. You can still count on me for some things, Yvonne.”

  “Thank you, Warren.” She said that in almost a whisper. She felt his own awkwardness, pulled from her fond memories. There was so much to say, she felt, but this wasn’t the time or place. As with everything else in her life, Detective Resnick would have to be put on hold as well. “Warren, I want you to meet my partner at TTF, Lincoln Jefferson Washington. We call him Link.” Resnick was tall, but he was almost dwarfed by Link’s looming frame. They shook hands firmly. Link had heard quite a bit about Resnick. She turned and gestured. “And I think we all know Martin Spinrad.”

  Spinrad gave a mock salute. He’d been leaning against the wall, saying little as they’d waited for Detective Resnick’s arrival. He was uncomfortable here in the unfamiliar world of TTF. Felt he didn’t belong, wasn’t sure how well he’d function under new surroundings of a unit he knew practically nothing about, and being under the supervision of a woman. Nothing personal against her. Yvonne surmised he’d have reservations, but still had confidence she’d selected the right man.

  She was feeling uneasy in her new role of team leader. She masked it with a smile and a businesslike efficiency. “Gentlemen, we haven’t got any time to waste.”

  She sat at the head of the oblong table, all business. Gray afternoon light spilled into the TTF conference room. Link took the seat at her left, Resnick opposite. Spinrad opted to remain standing, arms folded.

  “The computers have been spitting information all day,” she began. “With an overload from D.C. like I’ve never seen.” She indicated a stack of dot matrix readouts. Then she passed around a folder containing a number of police photographs taken down in the tunnel. Spinrad passed them over; Warren and Link stared at the lurid color and black and white glossies. Both men were horrified, neither had known the full extent of the horror that both Yvonne and Spinrad had experienced as eye witnesses.

  “Nobody’s claimed responsibility for anything yet,” she went on, “but I have to tell you that a possible lead’s been found.” All eyes gazed directly at Yvonne. “Seems something similar was tried in Mexico City about a year ago. Disrupted the trains for a week, but the bomb exploded long before the coming train reached it. The FBI already has an investigative team in Mexico City and they’re in constant contact.”

  “Any hard information on the perpetrators?” asked Warren.

  “About three different groups claimed it. None of them well known, nor their motives well defined.”

  “There is a tie-in, though,” Link said thoughtfully. “One Hundred Thirty-Fifth Street is a Spanish-speaking area.”

  Yvonne nodded. “Vinnie’s covering it. He’s put six teams out with the canvass. Dozens more from Citywide.” Link whistled. More than a third of the entire TTF squad were following it up.

  “What else?”

  “The Middle Eastern possibility,” Yvonne said. “Despite the Mexico incident, P.D. still feels — as do our FBI friends — that fundamentalist terrorists are the most likely candidates.”

  “They’ve been threatening us for years,” Spinrad reminded.

  “And we take it seriously. Winnegar and a liaison from the FBI are heading up those units. Rumor has it that a request for anti-terror specialists has been made to Jerusalem — with White House approval.”

  Spinrad chewed on his toothpick. He scowled. “Too many agencies involved. Government red tape makes a bureaucratic mess. Soon no one’ll know who’s in charge.”

  “In any event,” Yvonne said with a sigh, “none of this concerns us for now. Our job is to determine which others may have been responsible.” She took out another folder, placed it in front of her. “Before I go on, I’d like your off the cuff impressions. All of you.”

  Link leaned back in his chair, rocking it slightly. He blew out a stream of smoke, snubbed the butt in the filled ashtray. “I’d guess on the Mexico or Latin connection. Makes the most sense so far.” Yvonne was well aware that he was already assigned to one of Sabbatini’s teams before Winnegar pulled him out. Not that he minded working with DiPalma, only that to him it seemed the wrong avenue for so much valuable time and effort.

  Warren thought for a while, then said, “Latin connection or no, I’ll buy the foreign angle. Humiliate us in front of the world. Show that America can’t even protect itself while it brags and swaggers its power to the third world.”

  “Martin?”

  Spinrad’s opinion was quick in coming. “I call it a psycho. Pure and simple. Someone out to avenge a grudge.”

  Yvonne was a little surprised that only Spinrad’s estimation was closest to her own.

  “My reaction was similar,” she said, “only my money was on a group, S.L.A. style. Underground in New York, probably waiting it out now in some safe house.”

  “Whichever,” said Spinrad impatiently, “four of us don’t have much chance of rooting them out. We’d need four thousand to properly blanket the whole city.”

  “Citywide has its own teams out,” retorted Link. “Combing every borough for some connection.”

  “Then why aren’t we working with them?”

  “You have a lot to learn about TTF methods, Martin,” Yvonne said. “We work independently. Answer only to ourselves, find our own leads and follow them up. Little or no
red tape to stumble over. Undercover and underground.”

  “That still doesn’t change the point that we’re only four, Yvonne,” said Warren. “And we don’t have a single lead.”

  “Maybe we do.” She clutched the folder. Inside was the photostat of the scrawled note. “This is a copy of a poison letter that was sent to the city editor of the News a few days ago. Luckily it didn’t get thrown into the trash. No one paid any attention to it, at least until this morning. Then the News called HQ and had it sent over. Downtown passed it on to TTF.” She handed it to Warren.

  “Armageddon,” he said. He recalled the biblical quote. “Doesn’t it refer to the Plain of Megiddo, where supposedly good will fight evil in an apocalyptic battle?”

  Yvonne nodded. She was feeling back in stride. The confidence returned. DiPalma taking the bull by the horns. Damn, I love this work.

  “That’s the interpretation. I don’t know what it means, or who it’s supposed to allude to in the note. But my instincts tell me this wasn’t a prank. One way or the other, I intend to find out.” She could feel her heart pounding, the beginnings of cold tension in her hands. “Gentlemen, we have our first lead.”

  VI

  “How are you, Mama?”

  Rosemary DiPalma’s eyes opened wide with surprise and pleasure. Her thinning gray hair was knotted into a bun, her cheeks sunken and face very pale. She did not look well, despite her best efforts to hide it. She seemed so frail, so different from the way Yvonne always pictured her. Healthy, robust, a woman in charge of her life and her family.

  “How did you get in? It can’t be visiting time?”

  Yvonne smiled. “No, Mama. It’s hours before they’ll let anybody in.” She bent over the hospital bed and kissed her mother. “They gave me a special pass. They do that sometimes for cops. Privileged, I guess. But I only have a few minutes. I’m expected Downtown.”

  “At least you’re here. I’m glad.” She knew the long and irregular schedules given to police officers. With hospital visiting hours so limited it was common practice for such passes to be given. She reached out and squeezed Yvonne’s hand. “It’s wonderful to see you.” She frowned as she looked at her daughter. “You don’t look good. Are you sick?” She spoke in a whisper. The patient in the next bed was still soundly sleeping. “You look like you haven’t been eating.”

  “Just a head cold, Mama. That’s all. My appetite is fine. Never mind me. I’m the ultimate survivor, remember? How are you feeling?”

  “Much better than last week.” She sat up, tossing aside the news magazine she’d been glancing through. Worry about her condition had made her attention span short. These days she could hardly concentrate on anything. Between the pain and the fear, she found herself unable to do any of the small pleasures of life she used to enjoy so much. She wasn’t about to admit any of this, least of all to her daughter. “The doctors say I might be out of here in a few weeks if everything goes well.” She spoke with genuine enthusiasm. “It’ll be nice to get home So much to do.”

  She was lying, they both knew. However, it was a lie that made everyone comfortable.

  “That would be wonderful, Mama. What do the doctors say about the tests? Will they have to operate?”

  “Doctors. Poke you, pull you, stick in needles, tell you nothing. I’m going to have another cat scan, probably tomorrow. They say it’s just precautionary, though. Not to be overly concerned.”

  Yvonne sat beside her. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I came to see you. I wanted to come, really — ”

  She hushed Yvonne. “I know, I know. And I do understand. It must be terrible for you having to work all those hours. Awful life, Yvonne.”

  “I’m coping, Mama. Don’t worry. How’s Fran?”

  Rosemary glowed. Fran had been coming almost every single day, despite the deep personal problems she was having. Rosemary was proud of her two daughters. If anything at all had made her life worthwhile it had been having them. “Fran’s having it tough. She tries to hide it from me, but I know. She’s a good girl. Things will turn around for her, I know they will.” She felt a sudden sharp pain and winced.

  “Mama?”

  “It’s nothing. An ache. Happens all the time when you start to get old.”

  “So don’t get old.”

  “Good thought, Yvonne.” She grinned. “I’ll consider it.” Her hands played with rosary beads. “You go on off to work now. Go on.”

  Yvonne stood. “I do have to leave. I’m working on something very important, and there’s so much to do.”

  “I’ll never understand why you wanted to join the police. You should have been a lawyer, Yvonne. Nice office, lots of money, bankers’ hours.”

  “You make it sound tempting.” She kissed her mother again. “I’ll call you, after the tests. Okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll look forward to it. Yvonne — ”

  “Yes, Mama?”

  “Please be careful. The world’s so crazy these days. Did you hear about that awful bombing? What a thing to do. Sometimes I believe the whole world is sick.”

  “I heard about it, too. Not to worry, Mama. My job is mostly paper work. Computers … ”

  “I love you, Yvonne.”

  “I love you too, Mama.”

  *

  “Handwriting analysis?” Warren waited intently as Link read the report. The patter of a soft rain beat against the window. The glitter of the New York night skyline was hazy behind the wet streaks.

  “The writer was right-handed,” Link said in a monotone.

  Warren waited for more; nothing else came. “That’s it? That’s all they can give us?”

  “All that’s worth mentioning. The lab can’t tell for sure if the scribble was natural or intended. Pen pressure was strong, but that could also have been intended.” He reached for the paper container and gulped down a swallow of lukewarm coffee. He studied both the report and the note carefully again, just to be sure he hadn’t overlooked anything. Except for the slight slant and a few oversized loops, the writing was little different from his own.

  Annoyed, Warren got up from his chair and stood by the window. An ache in the small of his back nagged at him. Been getting worse lately. It was always worse in damp weather. Now he’d spent half the evening restlessly waiting for the expert analysis of the Armageddon note. The conclusions were useless. Ninety percent of the world population was right-handed. His disappointment showed.

  “Hey, this is only a preliminary,” reminded Link. “Given a little more time they might come up with something else.”

  “Sure. Like the black ink was really black.” Warren was cynical by nature. He’d never relied on any kind of so-called expert testimony, and this only reinforced what he already believed.

  Link drew a drag on his cigarette. “You hungry, my man? We can call in for some sandwiches.”

  Warren turned and shook his head. “No appetite.” He walked over to where Detective Washington sat amid a deluge of paper work. About ten thick manila folder files were scattered around him. “Listen, Link, I’m sorry. I just don’t like sitting around, waiting. Gets on my nerves.”

  “Sure, man.” Link, in his nonplussed fashion, smiled. “I could maybe get us both reassigned to traffic duty.”

  Resnick had been in a foul mood for hours. There’d been little time for, or attempt at, humor. Now, though, he allowed a smile. “Traffic, huh? Precinct captain once caught me reporting for duty without my gun,” he said. “I was just a rookie, late for work. Lord knows how I forgot it at home. Chewed me out publicly. That captain really got on my case — swore it would be a lesson I’d remember. He was right.” Warren’s bemusement was genuine. “I did a solid month of directing traffic to the Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge. In winter. Spent Christmas Eve with a whistle in my mouth. After my shift I was frozen as a stiff. And angry as hell. Stopped at a bar with a buddy for a quick beer. We both got smashed. Didn’t get home till about three in the morning.”

  Link grinned. “Bet your old lad
y was pretty pissed, huh?”

  “Yeah. Karen was pacing the floor like a cat. Worried to death. Figured I was the victim of a hit and run. I was sick as a dog. Vomiting all night, all Christmas day.” His smile turned wistful. “Haven’t gotten drunk since.”

  “Know what you mean. Spent plenty of nights myself praying to the porcelain throne.”

  “Karen just calls it sticking your head in a toilet and heaving out your guts.”

  Link laughed heartily. Resnick was a peculiar one to figure out. Moody. Impatient. Showed his emotions and temper perhaps too easily. But he was open and definitely sincere. Spoke his mind honestly. In the few hours they’d spent together he’d begun to like the man. Could see why Yvonne DiPalma had also.

  “How long you been married?”

  “Almost fifteen years.”

  “No shit?” Link was genuinely surprised.

  “No shit. What about yourself?”

  “Naw. Got an old lady at home, but it won’t last too much longer. She doesn’t take to the life.”

  “Never knew anyone who likes a cop’s life.”

  The telephone rang, jarring them both. Link reached for it. “TTF. Detective Washington.”

  “Link, I’m on my way from Downtown.” It was Yvonne.

  “Take your time. We have the writing analysis. Zero. Nothing on the profiles, either.”

  “Never mind. I’ve just been on the phone with the city editor of the News. They’ve received another note. Stay put.”

  “Yvonne — ” The receiver clicked before Link could say anything. The rain came down harder.

  “The News promised to sit on this, but not for long,” she announced breathlessly. She took off her raincoat, tossed it over a chair. Then she pulled out folders from her damp attaché case, shuffling aside the stack of Citywide fives. A veritable mountain of reports to be read and collated. “This note was received by the city editor less than two hours ago.” She turned it over to Warren, slumped wearily.