Nasty Cutter Read online

  I considered that. ‘You’d have to get his family’s permission first.’ I thought of Maria Robles and her affair with Marty. ‘His mom may not want any attention on her kid. Or her family.’ I lowered my voice. ‘People who’ve had affairs with murder victims are particularly wary of reporters. I’m sure you understand.’

  She smiled again and placed her hand on my thigh. Uh-oh. ‘That’s where you’d come in, Ray.’ She stroked my leg with her thumb. ‘You could vouch for me. Tell the mom I’m only interested in her kid and the work he does.’

  I looked down at her hand on my leg. ‘You know,’ I said, ‘this leg thing doesn’t work all the time.’

  She continued stroking my thigh and said, ‘Just most of the time.’ The smile she gave me made me realize this was going to be one of those times.

  ‘When would you want to talk to Hector?’ I asked.

  ‘The sooner the better,’ she said. ‘When does he work for the family?’

  This is Monday, I thought. ‘Tomorrow. He does Tuesdays at the art shop and Saturdays with the old man.’ I told her about Hector’s dual role with the Stern family.

  ‘Oh, man,’ she said. ‘If I can get some quotes from the elder Stern, that would add some great color to the piece. Didn’t you tell me his family left Germany right before that shit got bad?’

  ‘That shit’ was the Holocaust, Ally.

  ‘Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. We – you – still need Hector’s parents’ permission to talk to him,’ I reminded her. ‘And, yes, from what I was told, Mr Stern’s father read the writing on the wall and took his family to France and then here. He started the business around nineteen forty, and after he died, his son took over. Now it’s run by his grandson.’

  ‘My God, Ray. I hate to sound like a broken record, but this is another great story. The fact that I can tie it in with Marty’s murder makes it a sure sell to my editor. This could even be a two-or three-part piece.’

  I felt another snarky comment coming, something along the lines of how she was getting a little too excited about turning other people’s tragedies – in this case, murder and the Holocaust – into stories she could pitch to her bosses. I stifled it, and instead said, ‘Great. Then let’s put tonight’s dinner on your paper’s expense tab.’

  ‘You’re becoming quite the source, tough guy.’

  ‘Not the role I was hoping to play in this relationship, Ally.’

  Her stroking turned to a playful slap. ‘I’m teasing you, Ray. Let’s not turn this into another argument.’

  ‘I just don’t want to have to watch everything I say thinking it might become fodder for one of your stories.’

  ‘Then,’ she said, back to stroking, ‘stop leading such an interesting life.’

  Right.

  ‘Let’s get two more of these,’ she said, pointing to our almost empty drinks. ‘And then see where the evening takes us.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ I said.

  The evening took us through a few more drinks and then dinner at a terrific Ukrainian restaurant around the corner from 2A. We shared a plate of beef stroganoff and another of goulash as Ally told me about the most recent spate of layoffs at her paper. This was a nationwide trend for over a decade now as more and more people were getting their news online, cancelling their subscriptions, and passing up the corner newsstand. A big part of that news was how businesses in all sectors across the country were cutting staff or moving overseas. Not for the first time in recent years, I marveled at the concept that we schoolteachers had more job security than most of the rest of the working class. I’m not the most pro-union guy out there, but it was economic times like these that made me glad I was part of one. Even when I was a cop I had my union’s protection. How so many politicians who claim to be pro-police and pro-middle class could publicly speak out against unions and still gain popularity was something I’d never understand. Unions made the middle class in the fifties and sixties. People in this country were so willing to vote against their own best interests because some rich guy – usually white – in a suit and a nice haircut told them what they wanted to hear. This made me think of the Stern family and how Hitler had convinced a large number of Germans that the Jews were responsible for their country’s ills.

  ‘Where’d you go there, Raymond?’ Ally asked. ‘I seem to have lost you for a while. Am I boring you?’

  ‘Just the opposite. I think your story about the Sterns is a great idea, even if Hector’s folks say no to his participation.’

  ‘Are you trying to flatter yourself into coming home with me?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘But is that how to do it?’

  ‘It’s a good start.’

  I looked at the clock on the restaurant’s wall. It was almost ten and I had to be at work the next day.

  ‘Then let’s pay up and head to your place.’

  Allison reached into her bag and pulled out her wallet. ‘It’s nice to know I’m not the only one in this relationship with good ideas.’

  TWENTY

  There are few things more smile-inducing than heading off to work after a night of good food and great sex. I’m sure more than a few of my fellow commuters on the L train were wondering what the bemused smile on my face was all about. Maybe they just thought I was really enjoying my cup of coffee.

  When I got to the school, I checked my email and phone for any messages. There were none. After I got the kids inside and made sure the halls were cleared for first period, I checked to see if Tommy Avila had made it to school. He hadn’t. I went back to my office and called his house. I got the answering machine and left a brief message saying I hoped to see Tommy sometime during the day. I also tried both parents’ cell phones and left similar messages. Maybe they decided to keep him home after what had happened yesterday, which may have seemed like a good idea but did play into what the kid wanted. I decided to put off judgment for another time.

  My next phone call was to Hector’s house. His mother picked up.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said and then explained that I knew a reporter – who just happened to be my girlfriend – who wanted to include Hector in a story on Marty Stover’s charity.

  ‘I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘Considering my relationship with Marty, I mean.’

  I was prepared for that. ‘Allison just wants to meet Hector at the Sterns’ shop. See what he does and what he’s learning. There will be nothing about you or the rest of the family in her story.’ I went on to tell her that Allison also wanted to interview the elder Stern about his family history.

  ‘So there’ll be nothing about me or my husband and daughter?’

  ‘Just Hector,’ I said. ‘It’s all about Bridges to Success. I’m sure Allison will mention that Hector lives with his parents and sister nearby, but that’s it.’

  I waited a while as she considered that. After about ten seconds, she said, ‘I guess that’ll be OK then. Marty deserves it.’

  I told her I agreed completely. She was reassured that I would be accompanying Hector and would be there during the interview. We agreed to speak again after the interview and then we both went on with our days.

  Tuesday afternoon was warmer still, so Hector and I decided against taking the bus and walked from school to the Sterns’ shop. Allison was outside on her cell phone when she noticed us approaching. She ended her call, gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek, and stuck out her hand to my student.

  ‘You must be Hector,’ she said. ‘Man, they’re making eighth graders bigger than when I was in middle school. Handsomer, too.’

  Hector obliged her with a shy laugh. ‘Nice to meet you, Ms Rogers.’

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to talk to me, Hector. It’s a shame, what happened to Mr Stover. I’m sure he’d be glad to know something good has come out of it.’

  I gave Allison a look that said, Ease up on the bullshit, even though it was similar to the way I’d sold Hector’s mom on the intervi
ew.

  ‘He was a nice man,’ Hector said. ‘Bridges is a good program.’

  Allison reached into her oversized handbag she used while working and took out her pad and pencil. I knew somewhere in that bag was also the camera she took with her when the paper didn’t send her out with a photographer. She wrote something down in her pad and said, ‘How long have you been with Bridges to Success?’

  ‘A little over a year,’ he said after some thought. ‘Right after last Christmas.’

  ‘And why did you decide to join?’

  ‘Mr Donne thought it’d be a good idea,’ he said. ‘But also, I wanted to learn about how to run a business. I kinda thought it would be interesting to learn about another culture. I mean, these people – the Orthodox and Hassidic Jewish people – are my neighbors, and I knew so little about them.’

  That last part could have been taken directly from the charity’s literature, but it was nice hearing the words come from Hector. Allison ate it up and wrote it down. The conversation went back and forth like that for another few minutes. Then Allison said, ‘Why don’t you take me inside? Show me what you do and introduce me to the Sterns.’

  Hector opened the door for us and we entered what looked like a hardware store, except all the tools were smaller and designed to create art. Like any independent shop in the city, the aisles were tight and packed with as much merchandise as could fit. I could see toward the back of the store where the place seemed to open up a bit. Feeling a touch claustrophobic, that’s where I wanted to be, so I headed in that direction as Hector pointed out and explained things to Allison.

  When I got to the back, it became clear that this was where the framing and other services were provided. There was a big white counter with a cash register on one end and a small communications center on the other. In between, about five feet behind the counter and with his back to me, stood Joshua Stern doing something with a large machine. I said hello.

  He turned around. ‘Hello, Mr Donne. Is it four o’clock already?’ He wiped his right hand on his apron, reached over the counter, and shook my hand. He looked over my shoulder. ‘Your lady friend, the reporter. She is here?’

  ‘Hector’s showing her the nuts and bolts,’ I said. ‘Or should I say the brushes and paints.’ I chuckled at my own little joke. Stern didn’t.

  ‘Good, good,’ he said, brushing himself off some more and straightening his apron, which I now noticed had his store logo printed on the front. One of his print jobs, I figured. ‘Did she bring a photographer?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘She tends to take her own pictures, and then her editor decides if the story needs any art.’ I realized who I was talking to and added, ‘The newspapers call photographs art.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He seemed disappointed that there was no guarantee of any pictures to accompany the story. It occurred to me that he’d been looking at this from the point of view of a small business owner. He couldn’t buy the kind of publicity this piece was going to bring him. Good for him. If Ally and her paper are getting something, and Bridges is getting something, why shouldn’t Sterns’ Art Supply get some free advertising out of it?

  ‘Is your son here today?’ I asked.

  ‘He is downstairs. Usually on Tuesday he is at home doing his studies and schoolwork, but with the reporter here today, I wanted the extra help. Just in case. Besides, we are thinking of expanding, and the basement has been neglected for years.’

  ‘You know,’ I said, leaning over the counter. ‘A picture with the two boys – from two different Williamsburg communities – would be hard for any editor to resist.’

  He gave me a confused look that quickly turned into a smile. ‘I will go get Daniel now, Mr Donne.’ He was about to turn when he stopped and said, ‘Thank you.’

  I gave him a silent nod and a smile just before he went off to fetch his son.

  ‘And here,’ I heard Hector say from behind me, ‘is where Mr Stern does the framing and the big print jobs. I’m starting to learn how to make posters and enlarge photos, but most of the time I work with the computer or show customers where they can find supplies. I want to learn framing next.’

  Allison wrote most of that down in her pad. ‘Has your time here made you think about going into the art supply business?’

  ‘Not really,’ Hector said. ‘But I’m learning that there’s a lot more to running a business than I thought. There’s ordering, inventory, keeping up on what the competition is doing. Mr Stern is always on the phone with suppliers, trying to get the same deals the big guys get. It’s hard to keep up when the other guys can offer big discounts because they can buy so much more.’

  ‘How does he stay in business?’ I asked, more out of curiosity than trying to help Ally with her story. And Stern had just told me he was considering expanding.

  ‘He likes to say he provides a more personal service than the chains. And there’s a lot of artists in Williamsburg who like the idea of doing business with an independent instead of a nationwide store.’

  ‘You have been listening,’ Joshua Stern said as he came out from behind the counter with his son, Daniel, who had the same look he’d had at the shiva two days before. He was making it clear to everyone around that he’d rather not be here. ‘Ms Rogers,’ the father said. ‘This is my son, Daniel.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Daniel.’

  Daniel said the same thing back but with less enthusiasm.

  Mr Stern said, ‘Daniel. Why don’t you and Hector show Ms Rogers around a little more?’ He paused. ‘Perhaps a picture of the two of you in front of the store?’

  ‘That’s a great idea, Mr Stern,’ Allison said. ‘And like I told you over the phone, I’d like to talk to your father. Get a little more history from someone who’s lived it.’

  ‘Of course. Daniel, when you are done showing Ms Rogers around – and she has taken your picture – bring her upstairs to see your grandfather.’ He turned to Hector. ‘I will call up to him so he is not surprised by your bringing a guest.’ To Allison he said, ‘I told him you might wish to speak with him, but he forgets sometimes.’

  ‘I understand,’ Allison said. ‘Boys. Lead the way.’

  The three of them walked toward the entrance to the store. I hoped Allison got a good shot of the two teenagers in front of the shop sign.

  ‘That Daniel,’ Mr Stern said. ‘I sometimes worry about him, Mr Donne.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He seems so disinterested in the business. It will be his someday, and he seems not to care about learning how it works. Hector shows more interest than my own son.’

  ‘He’s a teenager, Mr Stern,’ I said. ‘They’re not designed to please their parents. I’m sure he’ll come around.’

  Joshua Stern gave me a forced smile. ‘I hope you are right, but with all the distractions kids have these days, I find him to be … not like I was at his age.’

  ‘He seems like a bright young man. Have you considered that maybe he won’t take over the family business?’

  He nodded. ‘I have, and that saddens me, but I’m starting to realize it may be beyond my control. That is hard to accept when I knew my future when I was his age.’

  ‘Different times,’ I said. ‘And he’s still only a teenager. You never know what changes the next few years will bring.’

  ‘That is true. I have also been told that maybe my daughter will take over.’

  The idea seemed so foreign to him, I just repeated, ‘Different times.’

  We stood there for a while, considering the possibilities in silence. Then he said, ‘If you will excuse me, I have to let my father know that Daniel is bringing Hector and Ms Rogers to see him.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll find something to keep myself busy.’

  I knew that something was going to be the small restaurant that sold beer a few doors down. I texted Ally to let her know where I’d be when she was done with the boys and the elder Mr Stern. She might also want to talk more with Joshua Stern as well
, so I had no idea how long she’d be.

  When I got to the restaurant, I ordered a Dominican beer from the Hispanic woman who seemed to be server, cook, and hostess all rolled into one. I told her I wouldn’t be eating for at least an hour, and even that was up to my girlfriend.

  ‘Si,’ she said. ‘Su novia. Siempre la novia.’

  Always the girlfriend. I smiled and took out the Taylor file Edgar had sent me from my bookbag. At least I’d have a beer and plenty of reading to do as I waited. I was hoping I’d be able to make sense out of Marty’s decades-old notes.

  I started with a copy of the police complaint. It was pretty easy to follow as I’d written quite a few myself during the years I’d been a cop. A little over twenty years ago, on June twentieth, Melissa Miller called nine-one-one early in the morning to report that she had been sexually assaulted the night before at a private party. Apparently, she had not yet informed any of her family members what had happened.

  When asked if she knew her attacker, she said it was one of the Taylor boys, William. The report went on to say that Melissa was later accompanied by her brother – the detective had convinced her to contact a relative or friend – to Nassau County Medical Center where a rape kit was performed. It was determined that she had sustained wounds to her vaginal area as well as her left thigh, consistent with her accusation of sexual assault. There was no semen found, which indicated that the assailant wore a condom. She also had a wound to her right cheek and a contusion on the back of her head. The blood test revealed a high blood alcohol content.

  It sounded – at least to me – as if she’d been hit in the face, knocked down, and then assaulted. Her statement concluded with her regaining consciousness hours later – she wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the attack – and then walking home. She said when she got home, she felt embarrassed about what had happened. She knew she’d been drinking pretty heavily and felt that no one would believe her story.