Author: Catherine Maiorisi
Category: LGBT
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/catherine-maiorisi/page,15,537229-the_blood_runs_cold.html
The del Balzos have requested that the detective be removed from the case but say they have been ignored.
The article went on to discuss gossip and rumors about Corelli and to recapitulate the story of her undercover assignment, the accusations of fellow officers, and the attack by Senator Parker.
“With four New York newspapers, it’s interesting she went to the Daily Post, the only paper to attack my ethics for going undercover to investigate other police. And it sounds like our friend Sansone may have fed her some information about my family.”
She folded the paper and handed it back to Hutchins.
“Pretty lousy article, eh Corelli?” Hutchins took the paper and looked down at his desk. “You don’t deserve it.”
“Thanks, Hutchins. It is lousy but it makes me wonder what the ambassador is hiding. Let’s get some air, Parker.” They stepped outside.
“What are we going to do?” Parker asked.
“First we’re going to call our friendly reporter back and see what she has in mind.” She took out her phone. “Then we’re going into the morning meeting so we can prove that del Balzo did it or find the person who did. That is, if they don’t fire me first.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, Parker, it won’t affect you.”
“I’m not worried about myself,” Parker said, blushing.
“What would Senator Daddy think, Parker?”
“He’d think Mrs. del Balzo was right about you suffering from PTSD.”
“Touché.”
Corelli speed-dialed Darla. “It’s me. So what did you have in mind?”
They talked for a few minutes and agreed to meet at Tess’s office after the morning meeting. “Darla is already working on a story to counter the Post article. She’s done her research and is going to interview people on other cases I’ve investigated to get a more rounded picture. She mentioned the Winter case, plus some cops I’ve worked with, and I don’t know who else. We’ll meet with her later to give her a chance to ask me a few questions.”
Before she could turn it off, her phone rang again. She checked the display before answering. “Sal. How are you?” Sal Cantrino, editor of The New York Daily World, was the younger brother of her best friend growing up. Corelli had changed his diapers, wiped his runny nose, and bought him ice cream more times than she could count. Now, he was a fierce ally.
“Hey, babe. I’m calling to save your ass. How about an exclusive to counteract that hatchet job in the Post? I noticed you’re pretty chummy with the new reporter at WNYN. You haven’t forgotten your old friend, have you?”
“I could never forget you, Sal. I—”
“You’re not going to mention the diaper thing and my cute little ass, are you?”
“Would I hold a thing like that over your head? Actually, I was going to agree to the interview but questions about my harassing Carla and Ambassador del Balzo are off limits. Yes, and the interview is yours.”
“You got it, Chi. At your place tonight?”
“Better let me call you later, Sal.” She ended the call and turned the phone off. They want press contact she’d give them press contact.
The team seemed half-asleep when they walked into the conference room. Some of them, Corelli knew, had been trolling the gay bars until the wee hours for information about Nardo or the ‘un-Christians.’ Some of them, she was sure, were out late trolling the bars on their own time for their own purposes. Hopefully, it was exhaustion and not mass depression over the article.
She picked up Ron’s copy of the paper and waved it. “Everybody see this?”
Some nodded, others waved their copies.
“What can we do?” Dietz asked.
“Our job. We’re the good guys so let’s track down the killer, whether it’s the ambassador or someone else. For your information, I spoke to the chief last night and he mentioned nothing about removing me. But he asked for irrefutable evidence if we find the ambassador is guilty.” Of course, that was before the article appeared.
The team cheered.
She swallowed and forced a smile. “Thanks. Now what do we have.”
The gay bars had been a waste of time. No one wanted to talk to the detectives or be seen talking to them. She sighed. “Dietz, see if you can get some undercover guys who can pass, and try again tonight.”
After Parker reviewed their discussion with Sigler, Corelli asked Forlini to follow up with the neighbors to see if the man who reported seeing the mystery man ringing Nardo’s bell noticed a taxi discharging a young man, and whether the old woman noticed Ginocchioni leaving after Nardo called him into the apartment.
“Parker and I also interviewed Andrea Sansone and his attorney, Louden Warfield III last night—”
Somebody whistled.
“Yes, the Louden Warfield III. Sansone seems to be in the clear.”
Now she had two reasons to murder Sansone, for getting her aunt and her sister all excited about his interest in marrying her and for using information about her family that he had come by dishonestly.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Saturday – 8:30 a.m.
They drove to Tess’s office to meet with Darla and Bear.
“Questions about the del Balzo accusation are out.”
“No need to worry, honey. All the other stations will be going negative, but our story isn’t about the accusation, it’s about you. We just need to ask you a couple of general questions but our focus will be on what other people say about you.”
Honey? “What other people?”
Darla smiled sweetly. “Trust me, darlin’.”
“How come you sound more southern each time I see you?”
“’Cause I’m gettin’ more comfortable with y’all.”
“What are you smirking at, Parker?”
Parker put her hands up. “Just listenin’ and learnin’, honey.”
“Wipe that smirk off your face. We’ll see how you feel when these two get their hands on you.”
When they’d completed the usual preparations, Darla settled into the chair facing Corelli. “Okay, Chiara, relax. Ready?”
Corelli took a deep breath and sat back. “Shoot.”
The lights went on. The camera whirred.
“Detective Corelli, you have solved a large number of homicides, have you not?”
“Yes, I have.”
“How do you do that?”
Corelli smiled. “There’s no simple answer to that question. Every crime is different. Every victim’s story is unique, as is his community. Every murderer has his own style. Every witness sees something different, every suspect has a different story and a different relationship to the victim. The truth is always elusive. But, generally, we start by looking at the crime and the victim, then follow the evidence—forensic evidence, if we find anything or other evidence like telephone records, witnesses, et cetera.”
“What do you mean ‘by looking at the crime?’”
“Where and how the person was murdered. Was it a drive-by shooting or a beating in an alley? If the victim was murdered at home, was it the result of a break-in or did the victim seem to know his killer? We consider the specific conditions in which the murder occurred.”
“And how do you look at the victim?”
“We talk to the people close to him, try to find his enemies and identify anything in his life that might have resulted in his death, like a relationship gone bad or financial problems or involvement with criminals. That kind of thing.”
“So what’s involved in following the evidence?”
“Lots of tedious work—talking to potential witnesses, to family and friends, and then following up on anything that sounds suspicious or doesn’t seem to fit. We spend a lot of time going back to people because they lie to us, and we know they’re lying but we don’t know what they’re lying about. In most cases, the lies don’t actually have anything to do with the murder. It may be something they want to cover up because it shows them in a bad light. But sometimes the liar is the murderer. We can�
�t know which it is until we determine what the person is hiding, so we go back repeatedly to ask questions, sometimes the same question. The person probably feels like we’re hounding them, but we’re just trying to get a story that makes sense.”
“I see. If someone seems to be covering up something, you will revisit them over and over, trying to figure out what they’re hiding, and whether they are the murderer. Is that correct?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you once again, Detective Corelli. I hope we’ll talk again soon.”
The camera stopped, the lights turned off.
Corelli frowned. “That’s it?”
“Yes, ma’am. That was perfect. Thank you. We’ll be on at ten o’clock tonight. Let me know what you think.”
As they were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan, Corelli turned on her cell phone to retrieve messages and almost dropped the phone when La Traviata, her ring tone, blared.
“Corelli.”
She could barely understand the words but she recognized the breathy voice. “Another body? Who? Slow down, Miranda. Take a deep breath. Now tell me. Who?” Parker’s eyes flicked from the road to Corelli.
“Spencer Nickerson? Where?” Please repeat that. She glanced at Parker, rooted in her bag for a pen and paper and jotted down the information. “Stay there. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. I’m on the way.” She turned to Parker. “Sixty-Eighth between Lex and Park.”
“Got it.” As Parker swung onto the East River Drive, she extended her arm out the window to put the light on the roof.
Corelli called Dietz. “Foxworth has another body. Another client.” She gave him the address. “I don’t care about jurisdiction. Get everybody we need there.” She put the phone in her bag and looked at Parker. “Hit it.”
Parker switched on the siren and they sped uptown, weaving in and out of traffic.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Saturday – 10 a.m.
Miranda Foxworth huddled in the corner of the small vestibule, shaking, tears streaming. She shrank back when the door opened, then threw herself into Corelli’s arms. Corelli patted her back, reassured her that she was safe and then held her at arm’s length. This must be her cleaning outfit: sneakers, worn sweat suit that might have started out purple but was almost lavender now, and a purple cloth tied around her hair.
“What happened?”
Miranda sniffled and gulped, then took a deep breath.
Watkins and Greene pushed into the small hallway. Miranda screamed.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m so scared.” The tears flowed again. “I can’t believe it. I feel like I’m in that Groundhog Day movie where the same thing keeps happening every day.”
Corelli squeezed Miranda’s hand. “You’re safe with us, Miranda. But we need to know about this morning. What time did you get here?”
She nodded, dried her eyes, and blew her nose. “About ten of eight. I let myself in and went straight back to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I read my newspaper and drank my coffee. Then about ten after eight, I changed my clothes and pulled out everything I need to clean the house. I usually start upstairs, three bedrooms and his office, then do downstairs, living room first, then the dining room, the hallway, and last the kitchen.”
She stopped.
Corelli said, “Go on, you’re doing fine.”
“When I finished upstairs, I went into the kitchen, turned the radio on, loud, so I could hear it in the living room and then I opened the door and went in.” She gripped Corelli’s arm. “And he was there. On the sofa. He looked like he was asleep, the same as Nardo, with the beads in his hand.” She swallowed a sob. “What’s going on?”
“You can’t stay here, Miranda, but I need to ask you more questions. I’d like you to go to the station. You’ll be more comfortable there. Okay?” Miranda nodded. Corelli glanced over her shoulder. “Greene, get Ms. Foxworth’s things from the kitchen and then have a uniform drive her to the stationhouse and stay with her in case she needs anything before we get back.”
She turned back to Miranda. “Try to relax. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
Miranda nodded. “Do you need the key to the house?”
“That would be helpful. Do you know anybody we could call about him?”
“I don’t. He owns a computer business someplace, but I don’t know where. Maybe his book, whatdoyacallit? Diary? Calendar? His office is upstairs. Maybe, there.”
Miranda let go of Corelli’s arm and dug into the bag Greene handed her. She came up with a key labeled Nickerson and gave it to Corelli.
Greene took Miranda’s arm and escorted her out.
Corelli stared after them. Was Miranda capable of murder? She turned back to Parker and Watkins. “Think she killed them?”
“If she didn’t, it’s one hell of a coincidence,” said Watkins. “And she’d better start getting next of kin information when she signs up a new client.”
Parker ignored the joke. “What’s the motive for killing two of them so close together? And, why call us if she did it?”
“Good questions.” Corelli had asked herself the same questions. It didn’t make sense. “Maybe she was blackmailing them and they started giving her problems. We’ll look into their accounts and hers. But right now let’s see what we have.”
Donning gloves and booties, they stepped gingerly down the hall until they came to an open door. The living room. As Miranda said, the radio was blaring.
Corelli shook her head. “Assumptions, assumptions.”
“What?” Parker said.
“I assumed Miranda listened to music while she cleaned but that’s an NPR show. Watkins, please turn the radio off.”
Sudden quiet, then Watkins reappeared.
“Thank you.” Corelli tipped her head, listening to the murmur of what sounded like a Gregorian chant.
The three of them stepped into the room. The lights were on. Spencer Nickerson, if they were to believe Miranda, tall and handsome, with dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes was stretched out on the sofa wearing casual but clearly expensive clothes. Like Nardo del Balzo, Nickerson lay with his hands folded on top of his body, a rosary clasped between his hands, the smell of incense in the air, and the Gregorian chant playing softly in the background. The small hole in the back of the head wasn’t visible, but she had no doubt it was there. No sign of a struggle. Somebody he knew. A tray of cheese and crackers, two plates, two knives, but only one glass of red wine on the coffee table.
May he rest in peace. As always, the words reverberated in Corelli’s head.
“Well girls and boys. Miranda Foxworth has a lot of explaining to do. We haven’t released anything about the laying out of the body or the rosary, so it’s probably not a copycat. Not only is she the connection between the two, but she’s the only one who knows the details. The media is going to love this.”
“How do you think it went down, Parker?”
Parker cleared her throat. “It could be one of us. The public doesn’t know, but our whole team has seen pictures, the CSU team has been on the scene, and who knows who saw the pictures at the ME’s office?”
Corelli considered the statement. Based on her undercover experience, she no longer discounted the likelihood of one of their own being the murderer. “You don’t like Miranda for it?”
Parker met Corelli’s eyes. “Not really. The only motive I can think of is the blackmail angle you mentioned, but I don’t get that vibe from her. And, look at the scene. There’s wine and a tray of cheese and crackers, two plates and two knives on the coffee table. Would Nickerson, or anyone, entertain their cleaning person that way? The way I see it, he and his guest are drinking wine and chatting. The guest gets up, maybe to use the bathroom, then comes back and shoots him up close in the back of the head. The killer lifts his feet and lays him out on the sofa. He’s dead weight, I mean, too heavy to move, so his feet are on the arm of the sofa, not on the cushions.”
“Plausible,” said Watkins.
“Today you are privileged to have a Medical Legal Investigator, an MLI not an ME.” A stately dark-skinned woman stepped out of the crowd in the vestibule. Exuding power and confidence, she extended her hand. “Gloria Ndep, I joined the ME’s office a couple of weeks ago. And you are?”
Corelli introduced herself and the other two detectives. Ndep raised one eyebrow slightly when she heard Corelli’s name but her smile was genuine and warm. The photographer went into action, snapping all angles and the additional shots Corelli requested, and then Corelli and Parker took over. Corelli snapped some pictures with her digital camera while Parker made a rough sketch. Lastly, they took a closer look at Nickerson’s body. While they were working, Ndep was also recording the context of the death, studying the scene, making notes, taking the temperature in the room, and drawing her own diagram. When they were finished, Corelli nodded to the MLI. Ndep put her notebook and pen aside and picked up her bag. She knelt beside the sofa and took a minute to study the body before beginning the examination. When she found the victim’s wallet in the inside pocket of his jacket, she handed it to Corelli. The driver’s license confirmed Miranda’s identification of Spencer Nickerson, III. Parker helped Ndep turn the body over. When she finished, Ndep stood and signaled the team in to remove the body.