Page 17 of Paranoia

“Your friend who gives you business now and then.”

“What do you got?”

“Pickup and disposal.”

“Where and when?”

“Staten Island and right now.”

“It’s going to be expensive.”

“I know. I’ll come by later in the week and settle up.”

“How big is the package?”

“Maybe five foot six and one hundred thirty pounds.”

“Be there in less than an hour. Text me the address.”

Forty-five minutes later, two men with a dolly and a washing machine box were at the apartment door. Amir nodded to Doyle but didn’t say anything.

Amir and his partner walked directly to where Doyle had left Elaine on the couch. They gently lifted her, more from a need to be quiet than out of respect for the body, and slipped her into the box. Doyle felt awful about this one. But he told himself it had been unavoidable.

He watched the men roll the dolly back to the stairway and carefully lower it one stair at a time. He waited ten more minutes, then slipped out of the building himself.

Doyle was no longer in a good mood.

CHAPTER 27

I WAS IN the office and settled fairly early. Mary Catherine had plenty of help and I was happy she had still been snoozing quietly when I’d left. Of course, Rob Trilling and Walter Jackson had beat me into the office. When I’d walked in, they were both at their desks, hard at work. I was no longer the office early bird. I didn’t mind. It happens.

I had greeted both of them quickly, then scooted to my desk. A case like this requires a great deal of reading. Not just scanning through useless documents but looking for details hidden deep in the reports.

I found the reports from the New York Department of Corrections on the death of Richard Deason, seven years ago. There wasn’t a lot of detail to get from the short report, but they had included a number of black-and-white photos that were plenty gruesome even without color. The narrative of the report simplysaid Deason was repeatedly stabbed with an edged weapon in the face and neck. The accompanying photo showed a toothbrush handle sharpened to a point.

The autopsy photo showed ten holes in Deason’s face and three more in his neck. His right eye was punctured. Nasty stuff. The report noted that the killer claimed his motive for the murder was because Deason had disrespected 1980s star Mr. T. Apparently, Deason had infuriated his killer by claiming Mr. T, his hero, was just an actor and not an athlete.

I was still shaking my head when Trilling walked up. He parked himself in the seat next to my desk.

“What’s going on with the case you and Terri Hernandez are working?” I asked.

He shrugged and said, “We keep finding bodies who are rivals of our group. We’re still trying to identify who does business with them. They could be involved in the murders as well.”

“You look beat.”

“I’m okay.”

I felt responsible for this young man. I couldn’t let this one slide. “Talk to me. Honestly. We’ve been through too much to have any secrets.”

Trilling smiled. I think he appreciated that I didn’t mention his recent suspension. It had turned out to be a well-orchestrated frame-up. Trilling had handled the suspension and aftermath extremely well. The young man had impressed me.

But I noticed he still didn’t tell me why he looked so exhausted.

I decided to take a different tack. “What do you have going on Sunday for dinner?”

“I thought Mary Catherine was on bed rest. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“You forget we have Ricky.”

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