The Thomas Blume Series

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Back in my car, I pulled up Remay’s number back in London and sent her the couple of pictures I had just surreptitiously taken of Darcey’s case file. I was pretty sure it would be hours before she’d reply, but figured it was smart to have as many options available as possible. A second opinion from someone I could really trust. With the pictures delivered, I also sent an additional text message: What do you make of this?

Sending the pictures was a huge violation, but I was beyond caring. As Kinsey had been so keen to point out, I wasn’t a cop anymore, and even back then I wasn’t overly concerned about following the rules. One look at the pictures and Remay would also know that I’d broken the law, but I was sure she wouldn’t care, either.

Another reason we got along so well.

After sending the images, I wondered just what was going on between Remay and me. I enjoyed being around her, and although it was hard to admit, she was the one reason I had hesitated at all about coming to New York. Was it a professional respect, or something more? Yeah, probably something more, but there was no way in hell she felt the same. Not for a washed-up, old drunk like me.

Not that it mattered. I had more important things on my mind.

Thinking things through and still unable to get the image of Darcey’s mauled face out of my head, I punched in Rey’s number and hit dial. He answered on the third ring.

“How is it over there in the Land of the Dead?” he asked.

“See. Right there…that’s what I missed most about you.”

“Not my handsome good looks?”

“No, but your imagination is impressive.”

Rey laughed, and I continued. “Darcey wasn’t in a good way. The examiner is calling it suicide. The guy’s a goddam pain in the ass, refused to let me see the case files. I did get a picture of the jewelry though.”

“Kinsey can call over there if you need more clearance.”

“No, I think I’m set for now. I was wondering, though…can you clear it so that I can go by Darcey’s apartment?”

“Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Thanks, Rey.”

“You bet. Hey,…are you still at the morgue?”

“Yep. Why?”

“I’m ten minutes away. About to head out to check up on a few other cases, but I have some time for lunch. Want to join me? I’ve got a gift for you.”

The airport pizza seemed like a memory from weeks ago and, despite the condition of the body I’d just seen, my stomach growled. I wanted to crack some heads and get on with the case, but the combination of a hangover and hunger pains weren’t going to do me any good.

“Okay. Just tell me where.”

“You remember Vito’s?”

I laughed. “How could I forget?”

“I’ll see you there in fifteen minutes.”

We ended the call, and as I pulled out of the morgue parking lot, I got a creeping sensation in my gut that had nothing to do with an empty stomach. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but one that I had not expected.

I was home again…and the city hadn’t changed a bit.

But maybe I had.

Vito’s has been around since 1952 and serves the best Chicken Parmesan in the city. It had been a staple for most cops on the force ever since I had started working there. When I stepped inside twenty minutes later, that sense of being back home grew tenfold; the chrome counter tops, the cheesy Italian music in the background, and the lively chefs jostling and shouting in the kitchen. It was all so familiar.

Rey was already sitting in a booth in the back, so I joined him. “Were you able to hook me up?” I asked, not wasting time.

“Merry Christmas,” Rey said as he slid over a small lockbox. “Glock 19. Oh, and these.” He slapped down a handful of forms with spaces for signatures.

“Really? The paperwork too?”

“Yep. ‘fraid so. Kinsey doesn’t let much slide. She’s very by-the-book. And this whole terrorism thing has her wound tighter than ever.”

“Yeah, what’s going on with that?”

“We got a call last week from high up the food chain about activity by ‘persons of interest’ scheduled to take place any day now. The FBI has been riding our asses all week about it, but they won’t tell us what’s going on, just that it’s serious.”

“Do what we say, but we won’t tell you why,” I said.

“Exactly, man. The feds do love to play their little games.”

“Still, makes you wonder what’s really happening.”

“Damned right. We’ve been asked not to speak a word of this to anyone either. So…yeah, this conversation never happened.”

“What conversation?”

“Exactly.”

A waitress came by to take our orders. Just thinking about the food had my mouth watering. Maybe I’d missed New York a little more than I’d realized. When she left, we started talking again.

“You haven’t even told Connie?”

Rey shook his head, a bit sadly. “No. My wife is the last person I’d want to tell. She’s stressed enough as it is, especially now that we have a second kid on the way.”

I sat up straight. “Hey, man, that’s great How far long?”

“Six months.”

“Well, congratulations!” I stood briefly and gave Rey a heartfelt hug. It made a change to get some good news.

“Thanks.”

“You’ve been busy. What else have I missed?”

“Um, oh hey, do you remember Manny?”

“Of course.” Manuel was Rey’s brother. He, too, was a cop over in the third precinct and a damned good one. Although at least fifty pounds overweight due to his weakness for chocolate chip cookies, everybody loved and respected Manny.

“Last year, Manny accepted a job with the DEA. He’s living down in Florida now, not too far from Parks, in fact. I speak to him about twice a month on Skype. He seems to be doing really well. He asks about you from time to time.”

“Manny was a good friend,” I said. I looked out of the window to the busy streets of a New York City afternoon as people bustled past the steamed glass window. There really was a frantic vibe to the place. Real magic. “You were, too,” I added.

“Um, I still am.”

“You know what I mean. Your family meant a lot to me. Especially after Sarah and Tommy … passed.”

“Yeah, I still can’t believe what happened,” Rey spoke quietly, head lowered. “If you’re certain Roland Teach is connected to their deaths, I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure you get some time with him.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate that. But first, let me see if I can find a way to the bottom of this Darcey thing. If I can do it Kinsey’s way, I’d like to. You never know when needing a favor from her might come in handy again.”

“Good graces and all that?” Rey asked. “Kinsey is a ball-breaker, but she’s good at her job.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, enough about this place,” Rey said. “Tell me what you’ve been up to in merry old London.” Rey’s attempt at a British accent was terrible, but it made me laugh, at least.

I was eager to tell him about my life in England. Yes, I’d made a name for myself over there in a short time, something unplanned and not always welcome, but it did make for a good conversation.

Okay, I wanted to brag a little, and Rey is a buddy—he wanted to hear all about it. So we ate our lunch as I outlined the cases I’d tackled in London, and before long, I was surprised to find myself talking about the place as though I actually liked it. Go figure.

I might have almost said that London was beating out New York…but then the steaming chicken parmesan came, and after that, it was just no contest.