Murder Is Invisible

3. Evidence-1

Evidence

Rosa rushed down the steps and into the kitchen. She leaned over to kiss me goodbye. “See ya’, Dad. Thanks for helping.” And then she darted through the dining room.

“Whoa! I didn’t say I was helping. I will take all the information you gave me up to Mrozinski, Detective Borelli’s old partner. Aside from that, I’m leaving this alone. And I didn’t see you kiss your mother goodbye.”

Rosa walked back into the kitchen, wearing a sullen face. “What do you mean? You said you’d help.”

I shook my head as I swallowed the last piece of toast. “I did not say I’d help. I said I’ll see what I can find out.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing. Find out means just that—ask around, and see if anybody has heard anything. I’ll go that far, but I’m not going Sherlock Holmes on this. It’s dangerous from a lot of perspectives.”

“Like what?”

“Like whoever did this is more than likely associated with bad people. And it will require bad things be done.” I walked over to Rosa and wiped her tears. “Forget the fact that something may happen to me. I’m not worried about that, but I don’t want the law coming after me for things I would have to do.”

“So, you’re scared? Is that what you’re telling me?”

I downed the last sip of my coffee and set the glass on the table. “Scared? Yeah. You could say that. But not in the way you think. I’m not afraid of getting hurt. I’m not even afraid of being sent back to prison—though being away from you and your mother would break my heart. What I’m scared of is turning into the kind of person I don’t want to be. It takes a lot to not be this person. I don’t want to do anything to make it easier. It’s like an alcoholic refusing to drink.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just find her.”

“I wrapped my arms around Rosa. “I hope you’re listening to yourself. It’s no small task to just find her. That’s why I’m giving this to Mrozinski. He’ll get things done.”

“Fine!” Rosa said, and stormed off. “If something happens, I’ll blame you.”

“Don’t forget to kiss your mother goodbye.”

She spun on her heels, stormed into the kitchen, kissed her mother, then raced through the living room and slammed the front door.

“I guess that didn’t go so well,” Angela said.

“Apparently not.”

I cleaned the dirty plates and was rinsing them off, when I felt Angela rubbing my back. “Don’t worry about that. Go to work and rest. It has to be more relaxing than here.”

I turned and hugged her, planting a soft kiss on her lips. “You’ve got that right.” I grabbed my briefcase and walked toward the door. “See you tonight, babe.”

“See ya. Have a good day.”

I rushed things at work that day, which wasn’t good; estimating was not the kind of job you wanted to rush; it was too easy to make a mistake. But I was eager to talk to Mrozinski and try to get moving on finding Rosa’s friend.

I wanted all of the information I could get for Mrozinski, so right after lunch I called Monroe and told him what I knew, and I asked if he thought it may have anything to do with him.

He assured me it didn’t, then said, “But it does make me wonder about who’s dumb enough to snatch girls from my turf, especially when one of them is my cousin.”

“I’m sure they didn’t know she was your cousin.”

“I hear you, but if they didn’t know it when they grabbed her, I’m bettin’ Allison told them. At that point, the smart move would have been to dump her, but they didn’t. That tells me the dudes aren’t from around here. If they were, they’d be more cautious.”

I nodded to myself. “You’ve got a point, Monroe. And it’s a good point. I’ll mention it to Mrozinski.”

“Mrozinski? You’re working with him? He ain’t gonna do s**t and you know it. Not for some black girl from Franklin Street.”

“I don’t see it that way. He’s a good guy, and he’s done nothing to make me think he’s prejudiced.”

“He’s a goddamn Polack isn’t he?”

“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

“When you figure out that they ain’t gonna do anything, call me.”

I listened to Monroe breathe into the phone, then said, “Listen, I’ve got a few people to see, but afterward—probably tomorrow—I’ll stop by. If we’re going to do anything, we need to get on this sooner rather than later. But I say we give Mrozinski a shot.”

“What do you need in the meantime?”

“Can’t think of anything yet, but I’ll let you know.”

I left work early, and stopped by St. Elizabeth’s on my way home. I was looking for confirmation that what I was doing was right.

As I sat in the church pew, waiting for the confessional line to diminish, Sister Thomas walked by, and slowed, a concerned look on her face.

She turned her head in my direction. “Something wrong, Nicky? Do you need to confess, or are you just resting? I only ask because I know that look on your face.”

I smiled, but underneath, I was grinding my teeth. Not yet, I wanted to say, but I held my tongue and shook my head.

“Why don't you tell me what's going on?” Sister Thomas asked. "Let me be the judge of whatever it is you're about to do. That is the problem isn't it? You have something in mind, and don't know if it's right?"

Sister Thomas sat next to me in the pew. “You may as well spill the beans, Niccolo. You’ve never been able to keep secrets from me.”

“You’d have made a good poker player,” I said.

“And what makes you think I’m not? You’ve never played Texas Hold‘em against me.”

I laughed. Sister Thomas always seemed to know when something was up. It was like she had a true sixth sense, especially when it came to things I hadn’t done yet. “Someone did something bad, Sister. Really bad.”

“And you want to punish them for it?”

I nodded. “They need to be punished,” I said. “The chances are that they hurt a young girl. But I can’t do this myself. It’s something the cops should handle.”

“The police should handle it, you’re right. But it sounds as if it’s something you want to take care of yourself.”

“I want to, but I can’t afford to. It will carve out a piece of my soul, and I’m afraid I don’t have enough left.”

“Then let the police do their job, Niccolo. They’ll take care of it, and you won’t have to get involved.”

“I wish that were the case, Sister, but I can’t sit around and wait to see if they do their job. This girl needs help, and the people who took her need to experience justice.” I gripped the back of the pew in front of me and squeezed. “Nobody should ever mess with kids.”

Sister Thomas nodded. “I understand. If it’s too much, then let God do His job. It’s not for you to decide.”

“That’s a nice thought, Sister, and I wish it would happen, but the notion of God interfering with our lives went out with Joan of Arc. I’m afraid God now uses people like me to do His job. At least, I hope that’s the case. I hope I’m not fooling myself. At the same time, I can’t risk it. If something went wrong, then Angela…”

Sister Thomas placed her hand on my shoulder. “You said they hurt a young girl.” She cringed. “What kind of hurt?”

“I don’t know for sure, Sister. I don’t even know if anyone did anything. But the girl is missing, and she’s not the type to go missing. Based on that, and knowing how the world works nowadays, I suspect she either has already suffered her fate or soon will. And, unless I’m wrong, it will be the worst kind. The kind the old Romans used to say was a ‘fate worse than death.’”

Sister Thomas sighed, then raised her head. “Do you mean r**e?”

I nodded.

She faced the altar, and seemed to be mouthing the words of a prayer, then she turned to me and said, “Do what you have to do, Niccolo. I’m not condoning violence, and I won’t condone it, but I imagine God would believe it to be worse if anything more happened to that young girl.”

I turned to look in her eyes. “So you’re saying I should do something?”

“Certain actions need punishment. Look at Sodom and Gomorrah. Our laws are not infallible; they allow some people to go unpunished. I can’t imagine God would want that.”

“You are saying I should take action. I never expected that. I came here to be told the right thing to do.”

“And who’s to say you haven’t been told the right thing? What you want to hear and what’s right aren’t always the same.”

“Thank you, Sister,” I said, then I blessed myself, and stood, opting to skip confession.

Sister Thomas made the sign of the cross. “Go with God, Niccolo.”

I intended to go home, but pulled to the curb about half a block from the station instead. Then I got out of the car and walked in.

“I’m looking for Detective Mrozinski,” I said. “He in?”

The desk sergeant called his name over the intercom. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

A minute turned into nearly ten, but eventually Mrozinski showed up, wearing a light-gray woolen suit and a light-blue shirt.

He walked up briskly and extended his hand to shake. “Fusco. What brings you by?”

“Have you got a moment to talk?” I asked.

He waved his hand, indicating I should follow, then turned and went into his office, sat behind his desk, and gestured toward a chair on the side wall. “Have a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.”

I cleared my throat before starting. “My daughter says a friend of hers from school is missing.”

Mrozinski’s face seemed to sag, a sullen look overcoming him. “I know. I’ve had reports from several people in different parts of town.”

I sat up straight. “Several people? Any connection?”

He shook his head. “None that I know of, but we’re working on it.” Then he fixed me with a glare. “But stay out of it, Fusco. I don’t want the kind of s**t we had with Borelli. Understand?”

I almost said something smart—like, that kind of s**t is what got Borelli’s kid back—but instead, I swallowed my pride. “Understand,” I said.

“You have any news I can tell my daughter? She’s upset.”

“We’ve got nothing yet, but like I said, we’re working on it. There are five girls and counting, and not a clue between them. Right now, we’re stumped.”

“If I find out anything, I’ll let you know,” I said.

Mrozinski stood. “I don’t want you to find out anything, Fusco. Like I said, stay out of it. Don’t get involved. Let me handle it. Is all of that clear?”

I stood and nodded. “Perfectly clear.”

As I walked out of the station, two things were obvious—Mrozinski didn’t want my help and Mrozinski didn’t have any idea where to start on this case. I got a bad feeling that this was not going to be solved by the fine detectives of the Wilmington Police Department.

On my way down Union Street, I thought of St. Anthony’s and of Father Vincent. He was a priest from the old country, and had been here for a looooong time. Some say he came over during the immigration wave in the 1950s. In any regard, the word on the street was that he was a stickler for the law. He was the one I should probably speak to.

St. Anthony’s

I turned left on 9th Street and drove up to the church. After kneeling in the pew for a few minutes, I mustered the courage to talk, and went to see Father Vincent. Once inside the confessional, I started.

I told him the story, then explained what it seemed as if everyone wanted me to do.

“Father, I’ve done…immoral, unlawful…bad things before. Every time was a struggle with my conscience or my soul. But each time I did something, the next time got easier. The struggle less.”

I breathed deeply and closed my eyes. “I don’t want it to become easy.”

Father Vincent made the sign of the cross. I could see through the confessional screen. “Nothing is easy, my son. God places obstacles in our path to Heaven. Perhaps this is yours. Your ‘cross on Earth’ so to speak.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that there are times in life when you must do things you don’t want to do. This may be one of those times.”

“Father! I just told you I’d be as much as killing these people, and you’re telling me—okay? I heard you were supposed to be tough, someone who abided by the law.”

A long silence followed. For a minute, I thought he’d gone. “I do abide by the law, and I’m telling you to abide by the law. No matter how much you may want to punish these people, you have to trust in God. Allow him to get punishment. God doesn’t live within the guidelines of the law. Our civic laws are not His laws, and they don’t restrict Him. I’m sure that no one wants anything to happen to these young women. Not the parents, not the cops, not the young women, and certainly not God.