Kop Page 14

  “I was worried sick all night.”

  My eyes were open now, and as I was looking at the expression on Niki’s face, I was beginning to realize how badly I’d screwed up. “How’d you find me?”

  “I called Paul, and he put me in touch with Maggie who told me you were here.”

  “You talked to Maggie?” My heart skipped, like I was caught with my hand in the candy jar. I told myself I was being stupid reacting like this. I hadn’t done anything with Maggie.

  Niki gave me a long look before answering. “She was surprised you hadn’t called to tell me you were working all night.”

  “Sorry. I should have called.” I struggled upright then had to limp for the first few steps as we exited the psych room. The vice room was empty as was usual in the early mornings. The door to the interrogation room was shut, a sure sign that Maggie was still inside, going through mugs with Pedro the Peeper. She hadn’t come to wake me up for my turn. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, careful to avoid touching my jaw. I stopped for a cup of water and rinsed my mouth out as I drank. Then, Niki and I settled at my desk with a couple cups of coffee.

  Niki said, “You going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “I told you. Paul’s in trouble. He needs my help.”

  “Paul’s always in trouble.”

  “I know, but this time it’s serious.” The words sounded hollow, but it was the truth.

  Niki shook her head in disappointment. Then she took hold of my hand. “You’re scaring me, Juno.”

  I didn’t have an answer for that.

  Niki let go of my hand and took a sip of coffee. She looked at the floor as she talked. “I’m afraid that if you keep this up, you’ll end up going back to your old ways.”

  I didn’t tell her how far down that path I’d already gone. Did I really slap that kid last night? “It’ll be okay,” I said, “I’ve got it all under control.”

  She looked doubtful. “But—”

  I interrupted her, “I have to do this, Niki. I have to see this one through.”

  Niki looked into my eyes. “Why?”

  “Paul needs me.”

  “Forget what Paul needs for a minute and think about what you need.”

  “What I need is your support.”

  The door to the interrogation room opened, and Maggie poked her head out. “We got him. Pedro picked him out.” Her head disappeared back behind the door.

  Niki was still looking at the floor. Her expression was unreadable.

  “I have to go,” I said.

  “I know.”

  We both stood. I leaned over to kiss my wife, and when I did, she moved in for a hug that I felt I didn’t deserve. I returned the hug halfheartedly. I was eager to get back into the interrogation room. When Niki didn’t let go, I felt myself succumbing to the full force of the hug. I held Niki’s head to my chest. We stayed like that for while, long enough that I stopped thinking about the case and started thinking about Niki and me, and how comfortable it felt to hold her, and how that had to mean that we still had something. Then Niki suddenly let go and walked out without another word.

  I entered the interrogation room. Pedro and Maggie were seated at the table. Four soda bottles were lined up, mold already forming on their insides.

  “I found him!” Pedro said excitedly.

  “That’s great, Pedro. You did a great job.” Poor kid must have been attention-deprived if he wanted approval from me. It wasn’t that long ago that I’d threatened him with gang rape.

  I strode up to the killer’s hologram and walked around it. “He has a harelip,” I said.

  “See, I told you his face was messed up.”

  “You were right, Pedro.”

  Maggie had already pulled his record. “Ali Zorno, age twenty-nine. He was arrested once for burglary. He served three years and was released three weeks ago.”

  “Who was the arresting officer?”

  “B. Redfoot. You know him?”

  “Yeah. Brenda Redfoot; she retired last year. Let’s call her.”

  “It’s still early, Juno.”

  I called anyway. Brenda answered. “Hello?” Her hologram looked good; she was made up nice, far nicer than I ever saw her in person.

  “Sorry it’s so early, Brenda, but I need to talk to you about a guy you sent up.”

  “No problem, Juno. I’ve been up for a while. I don’t sleep as good as I used to. Who do you want to know about?”

  “Ali Zorno. He has a harelip. You put him away on a burglary.”

  “What happened; did he kill somebody?”

  “We think so. What can you tell us about him?”

  “I arrested him when I was off duty. He broke into an apartment in our building. You ever heard this story?”

  “I think you told it to me once, but I don’t remember too well.”

  “My husband heard something in the middle of the night. He woke up and saw this asshole outside our window. He was on the fire escape, fiddling with the window, trying to get it open. We keep the windows locked, so he couldn’t get in—not without breaking the window, anyway. You do police work for twenty years and you learn not to trust anybody, am I right? By the time my husband woke me up and I found my piece, he was gone. So I went to the window and opened it as quiet as I could. I looked down to see if he was still out there, then I heard him up above me. I looked up just in time to see him go in the window of the apartment above ours—the Benzels’ place. They were the family that was living there at the time.

  “I trailed him up the fire escape, real slow so he wouldn’t hear me. I didn’t know if he was armed or not, and I didn’t want him to find me before I found him. I reached the window, and I saw him come out of the kitchen with a butcher knife.”

  “Butcher knife,” I said.

  “Yeah. One of those big long ones.” Brenda asked, “Is that how he killed your victim?”

  “Yeah, mutilated him pretty bad.”

  “Mutilated him how?”

  “Cut the guy’s lips off.”

  “Shit, Juno. I knew he was a sick bastard. I interviewed his family. They said that when he was a kid, he got picked on something awful with that face of his. I wanted him put away on attempted murder, but the damn judge wouldn’t believe me.”

  “What judge?”

  “Judge Heifetz, he was the one that sentenced him. Here, let me back up a minute. I was looking through the window, and he went down the hall to one of the bedrooms, carrying the knife. I climbed in the window and snuck up behind him. He was in the doorway of the kids’ bedroom. He had turned the light on, and he was just standing there with that creepy smile of his. He had the knife in his hand.”

  “Do you remember which hand he held the knife in?”

  “Yes. It was his right.”

  Right-handed, butcher knife, witness testimony—the evidence list was piling up on Ali Zorno. “Then what happened, Brenda?”

  “So then I came up on him and yelled, ‘FREEZE!’ He dropped the knife and didn’t resist. I guess I should be thankful that he didn’t. I was worried he was going to try to grab one of the kids, you know, as a hostage. If he took one step into that room, I would have fried him right then. But he just gave up and stood there with that freaky grin.”

  “You did well, Brenda. It must have been tough to keep your head like that when you’d just woken up.”

  “Not really, Juno. When you wake up with somebody trying to break in to your place, you wake up fast.”

  “What about this judge?”

  “Oh yeah. Zorno’s case got assigned to Heifetz’s court. You know how thick-headed that guy is. Zorno’s lawyer pleaded him guilty to a charge of burglary. You believe that? This guy had murder in his eyes. He wasn’t there to steal anything. The judge bought it, sent him up for three years.”

  “What about the knife? The judge had to see he was up to no good.”

  “Get this; Zorno claimed he took it to defend himself. He said he heard me coming up after him, and he saw me c
ome in the window with my weapon. He said he was afraid for his life—thought I would shoot him, so he snatched a knife from the kitchen in self-defense. I was floored. I couldn’t believe he was trying to get away with a story like that. Meanwhile Judge Heifetz was eating this bullshit up. Since when does a judge trust a criminal’s word over a cop’s? I’m glad I’m not police anymore. Who needs it? You’re getting up there in years, Juno. When are you going to call it quits?”

  I chose not to answer. “Is there anything else you can tell us about Zorno?”

  “Not much, just dead ends. When it started looking like the judge was going to let him slide on the attempted murder charges, we starting thinking maybe this wasn’t the first time he killed somebody, so we started checking around. He comes from a stand-up family. They own a souvenir shop a block off the Old Town Square, and they live upstairs. He’d hang around the shop all the time when he was little. The neighbors said he was a real mama’s boy. He’d run to mommy all the time when kids would pick on him. Have you seen his picture?”

  “Yeah. I’m looking at his mug right now.” His dark and misshapen maw resembled an ink blot. Vacant eyes stared out from under a loose mop of hair. I anchored onto the humanity of his nose, which rose from his face like the only island in an abnormal ocean.

  “They used to call him Fishhook. They’d put their fingers in their mouths and pull like they were hooked. When he got older, the other kids stopped picking on him, because they were afraid of him. As a matter of fact, they still are afraid of him—scared to death. I interviewed at least a dozen of them. They were all real reserved at first, but once they started feeling comfortable talking to me, they told me all I needed to hear. All the shops on that block have these connected basements, so you can go from one building to another without ever going outside.

  “Anyway, all the kids that grew up on that block swore that he’d come through the basement and come into their rooms at night to watch them sleeping. They’d wake up screaming, but he’d be gone by the time their parents would come. One of the kids, well he’s an adult now, he told me that he would sneak his father’s lase-pistol into his room and hide it under his pillow and try to stay awake so he could fry the Zorno kid when he came in, but he always fell asleep. They’d find missing pets down in the cellar, staked open, blood and guts all over. You know, the usual serial-killer-in-the-making kind of shit. Even if he only did half the things they think he did, we’re still dealing with a major psycho.”

  “Did he do anything to the pets’ faces?”

  “He sure as hell did. He’d cut the lips off just like your vic. That’s how they all knew it was him that was doing it. He had a real obsession with lips. I had two theories on that: either he cut the lips off to make the pets ugly like himself, or he keeps the lips as some kind of substitute for his own. Either way, the guy’s nutsville.”

  “Did you tell all this to the judge?”

  “Of course I did—didn’t make a difference with that idiot. Get this; when Zorno turned eighteen, he got a job on a barge as a loader. He traveled up and down the river all the time. I subpoenaed the barge’s records, matched up the ports of call with reports of missing persons. I found seventeen matches—seventeen. And the judge gave him three years for burglary. That asshole judge said, ‘No body, no crime.’”

  Maggie and I looked at each other, the same shock in her face as mine—seventeen. Then Maggie’s face struck with a revelation, “Kapasi’s sister.”

  She was right. The time frames matched up. “Brenda, do you remember if one of your missing persons was named Isabel Kapasi from Loja?”

  “It sounds familiar, but I’ll have to check. Give me a minute to look it up.”

  Her hologram froze on hold while my brain did anything but. I tried to change gears…from Jhuko Kapasi to Ali Zorno with his twisted fishhook grin. I stretched for a connection to Mayor Samir and came up empty.

  Brenda came back on the line. “I do have Isabel Kapasi on my list. How did you know?”

  “I’ll have to explain it later, Brenda. We’ve got to go.” I clicked off the line, forgetting to say thanks. I’d make it up to her later.

  Maggie looked like she was having the time of her life. Her eyes were thrill-of-the-hunt glowing. “Let’s go get the son of a bitch.”

  I was still trying to come to terms with the new facts. Private Kapasi: hustler, but not a murderer. His sister disappeared the day he got sentenced for running ’guana fights, possibly a victim of Ali Zorno’s. “Yeah. Let’s go get him.”

  “Do we need backup?”

  “Never share a collar unless you have to, Maggie. You heard Brenda; he gives up easy.”

  I called the prison and found out which boardinghouse Zorno had been placed in. Ex-cons got thirty days of free housing, supposedly enough time to land work before they were tossed onto the street.

  On the way out, I stopped to tell the kid he could go. I had to wake him up. “You’re free to go, Pedro. Here’s some money so you can get a cab home.”

  “Are you going to get the guy?” he asked looking up at me, squinting from the bright lights. The kid was tired.

  “Yeah. We’re going to get him now.”

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  “Only if we have to, Pedro.”

  “Can I come?”

  “No, but we’ll have to bring you back in to ID him after we pick him up so get some rest.”

  Pedro looked let down. He wanted to come and watch.

  We hopped into my car. We’d be better off in it than a police prowler. We didn’t want him alerted to our presence.

  We crossed the Koba to get to Zorno’s boardinghouse. It was slow going on the bridge—caught behind a flock of skeletal old women on bikes, their handlebars stacked high with roped bundles of rugs. They pedaled at walk-speed in sweated-up dresses, heading for the Old Town Square. Even an offworld car got stuck behind them, no room for it to pass. They should’ve taken a flyer.

  We parked a block from the boardinghouse. It was a drab three stories, built after the boom—no arches or tile work. The building was boxy concrete, not even painted. We three-sixtied the place, no fire escape—good. If he was in his room, there wouldn’t be an escape route. The first-floor office door was hidden behind a locked steel gate. The building manager demanded our badges before opening the gate and letting us in.

  There was a worn-out rug on the floor, and the walls were decorated with faded nature-scene posters spouting bullshit inspirational messages. The manager took a seat behind the counter. A selection of keycards sat in cubbies behind her. She was past her prime, with a cracked-leather smoker’s face and a voice to match. “What do you want?”

  I said, “We need to talk to one of your tenants, Ali Zorno. Which room is he in?”

  She talked like she had gravel in her throat. “You’re going to have to help me out, doll. I see a lot of guys come through this place. It’s hard to remember ’em all. It’s not like any of ’em are worth remembering. They’re all rotten, if you ask me. Most of ’em get back to doping and stealing the day they get out.”

  “Ali Zorno. He would have come in about three weeks ago.”

  She ignored me and continued. “I’m not joking. Just yesterday, I got a new guy. Jacob is his name. He told me he served ten years. He was very happy to be out, and I was happy for him. He told me how he’s going to get a job waiting tables and settle down and start a family. I told him that sounds like a good idea. You know, I was encouraging him, building up his spirits.”

  How hard is it to answer a simple fucking question? “Ali Zorno. He has a harelip. What unit is he in?”

  “Hold on, I’m trying to tell a story. So last night another boarder starts banging on my door and tells me Jacob is in the hall, all strung out, sleeping on the staircase. He tells me he puked up all over the hall and it stinks. I told him I ain’t coming out there. I know better than to go out there at night. I open that gate and one of ’em will break in here and have his way with me. I tel
l you, these guys ain’t had any front-door lovin’ in a long time. I hear they do it with each other when they’re in jail, but that can’t be the same as having a woman.”

  “Ali Zorno. First name A-L-I, last name Z-O-R-N-O.”

  “I know how to spell, doll. Anyway, I opened the door but not the gate, and I peeked out to see Jacob lying on the staircase just like the boarder told me he was. He was right about the puke, too; it did stink. I told him it will just have to set there until morning. I called the cops; they came and took him. You see what I’m trying to tell you, there ain’t one of ’em that’s worth a damn. Now who was it you said you were looking for?”

  “Ali Zorno.”

  “Sure, I know who you’re talking about. He’s the quiet type. If you ask me, they’re the kind you really have to worry about. You never know what they’re thinking.”

  “Which room?”

  “He’s in room thirty-four.”

  “Is he in now?”

  “How should I know? I don’t keep track of ’em. That ain’t my job.”

  “Give me a key to his room.”

  “That ain’t my job either.”

  I reached over the counter, snatched the key in cubby number thirty-four with my shaky hand. She started to protest but thought better of it and backed the hell out of my way. Maggie and I climbed the three flights of stairs, drawing our weapons as we approached the door. I tried to slow my breathing. I was winded from the stairs and more than a little scared. This fuck butchers people, cuts their lips off. I knocked, and we waited silently. If he asked who was there, I was going with, “I’m a new tenant, just got sprung from the Zoo this morning. I got a bottle of brandy that I don’t want to drink by myself.”

  No answer. I knocked again…still nothing. I took the keycard out of my pocket and waved it at the reader. I held up three fingers for Maggie then mouthed, “One…two…three…”

  We stormed in, weapons raised in two-handed grips…. Empty. Damn.

  Maggie holstered her weapon.

  My piece was wobbling in my hands. I self-consciously put the gun away. “Let’s search the place.”

  “Don’t we need a warrant for that?”