Malicious Read online

  The spot where Pete died was on the steps of a three-story brick brownstone that looked abandoned. The vacant lot next to it had been used as a dumping ground for God knew how long. Plastic bags were stuck on the sagging chain-link fence and piles of trash blew all over the lot. An old pickup truck rusted near the back fence.

  A line of young men on the porch of the house next door watched me. Despite the cold, a couple of them sat on a sagging couch wearing nothing but wifebeater undershirts. They were showing off how tough they were.

  I had to shake my head and mutter, “Idiots.”

  There was still evidence of the crime scene right on the steps leading up to the front door of the house. I saw pieces of police tape, and the dark stain on two of the steps had to be blood. No one bothered to clean places like this very thoroughly after a murder. It was the same everywhere. Only this was a place where someone I knew had died.

  I crouched down to examine the stain and looked up to see if I could figure out what had happened. The little I had learned on the internet about the shooting said that Pete was unarmed and stumbled onto the stairs with two gunshot wounds to his abdomen. At the time, people had been renting the house, but they had all fled the night of the shooting. It had been nothing but a drug house for the past decade, and no one seemed to be able to do anything about it. The whole situation made me ashamed of my brother and how he made a living.

  As I crouched there, drawing the attention of the neighbors, a dark-blue Ford Crown Victoria pulled to the curb directly in front of the house. All it needed was lights on the top to advertise it was a police car. I stood slowly and turned as the car door opened.

  A big man, an inch taller than me with more meat on his shoulders, emerged from the car, looked at me, and said, “Hey, dropout, what do you think you’re doing in the big city?”

  Chapter 5

  I STARED AT the Newburgh detective, who wore a heavy coat over a cheap shirt and tie, and remembered his name was Mike Tharpe. Last time I’d seen him, a few months ago, he’d also thought it was funny to call me “dropout.” I guess it was true, I had dropped out of Navy SEAL training during my final week. But it wasn’t exactly a decision on my part. Either way, I accepted my past. Now I needed some questions answered and I didn’t need to antagonize a cop, especially if he was trying to jostle me.

  As the detective stepped toward me, one of the men on the porch made a pretty good pig grunt. It carried across the open space. The men on the porch all started to laugh.

  Tharpe looked up at the man who had made the noise and said, “You must’ve heard that last night from your mom when I was visiting. Sometimes she likes to make a sound like an elephant, too, ya know?” That sent an uncomfortable silence through the group. The man who had made the sound was clearly furious. It made no impact on the veteran Newburgh detective.

  Tharpe looked at me and said, “If you’re looking for your brother, he usually hangs out at a bar on South Robinson Street.”

  “You mean the State of Mind Tavern? I know. I talked to him a little while ago.”

  “What brings you here? I mean to this neighborhood.”

  “My brother said a friend of ours was killed here.”

  “You knew Peter Stahl?”

  “He grew up in Marlboro.” For some reason I didn’t want this guy to know how much Pete meant to me. It was like he hadn’t earned the right to know my pain. I said, “My brother told me what happened and I was curious about his murder.”

  “Murder! He died of natural causes.”

  I stared at the detective and said, “I read that he was shot to death.”

  “That is natural causes for a dope dealer.”

  “Drug dealer.”

  “What?”

  “No one calls it dope anymore. They call themselves drug dealers.” I usually didn’t split hairs but did when it annoyed someone in a position of authority.

  Chapter 6

  THARPE SIGHED, THEN took a few minutes to explain what had happened. He led me toward the house, pointing through the open door into the hallway.

  “Near as I can figure, one of the local dopers”—he paused and looked at me—“sorry, drug dealers, thought Stahl was moving in on his territory and made a business decision.”

  We climbed the five stone steps to the landing in front of the door. The men from next door were acting like we didn’t exist, which was fine with me.

  Once we were in the hallway, Tharpe looked at me and said, “Did you know Stahl well?”

  I calculated my answer carefully. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “My brother says you guys aren’t doing everything you could to solve the shooting.”

  Tharpe stiffened at that. “If I did everything I could on every shooting in this screwed-up town, I wouldn’t have time to sleep.” His face turned a little red. “Peter Stahl sold dope and got shot. It’s the natural order of things. Happens all the time. That’s what we call the ‘price of doing business.’”

  We stood in the door and looked out onto the street. Tharpe explained to me how Pete had stumbled out of the vacant lot next door before he fell onto the steps. He said, “Stahl had been shot twice at close range. No one heard the shots and only a couple of locals acknowledged the body. By the time the crime scene was secured and police arrived, the only evidence was a body on the steps and a pistol that was found in the lot. It’s being examined, but there’s no telling what they’ll find, or when. Our backlog would blow your mind. One of our narcotics guys thinks it might have been Stahl’s own gun.” He looked out over the neighborhood. “I don’t know why we try so hard. There were no casings recovered, no witness who claimed to have seen anything or heard the shots, and all we got was an anonymous call to 911.”

  I thought about the facts: gunshot death of a known drug dealer. No witnesses. There wasn’t much I could do. The police had declared the death a homicide and the listed potential motive as drug-related activity. That was about as much work as the Newburgh police intended to put into the case. I knew I had to at least do something. I wasn’t sure I could face Pete’s mom or sisters otherwise. They needed to know that someone had looked at the case.

  I listened as Tharpe explained what he thought happened and how the police responded. This time I asked him, “Did you know Pete?”

  “Knew his name from my days in narcotics. Just another lowlife.” He held up his hand and said, “No offense. I mean, about your brother.”

  “None taken. He is a lowlife. But he’s also my brother, and Pete was my friend, so I’m going to help.”

  Tharpe turned and focused his full attention on me. He said, “Look, I’m a fellow vet. Did four years in the Marines. I’m telling you, you need to give up being everyone’s unpaid private investigator. The Newburgh police are looking for veterans right now. We got some kind of grant to hire them. It’s a decent job with a good retirement. No one will hold anything your brother has done against you. You’d like the feeling of camaraderie again.”

  I was surprised by the offer, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider it for a minute. My main career as a paperboy wasn’t everything I’d hoped it would be. And with this new job, I’d still be able to live in Marlboro in my little house surrounded by all my family. But I knew this wasn’t the time to give an answer.

  As we started to walk back outside, Tharpe said, “Sure, there are some headaches on the job. You have to put up with punks and shits, but you also get to knock heads once in a while and do some good. You should think about it.”

  It was a charming offer, but I was never much for “knocking heads.” And my experience told me that “punks” often matured into decent human beings. Of course, that experience mainly came from being in the Navy, which had a tendency to straighten people out.

  Right now I wasn’t interested in anything other than the person who killed my friend.

  Chapter 7

  I DIDN’T TELL Natty about my chat with Detective Tharpe as we drove in his new, leased Chevy Camaro to a nice area outsid
e Newburgh close to Firthcliffe, in an upscale development. I wondered if any of Pete’s neighbors had known what he did for a living. My bet was that he was smart enough to do business away from his home, especially since he’d been keeping his job from his wife, Katie. Apparently, she didn’t even know what business Pete was involved in. Not all drug dealers show that kind of common sense.

  As we pulled into the cul-de-sac where Pete Stahl had lived with Katie in a small, single-story house, Natty started acting weird, even weirder than usual. I had no idea what was going on inside that foggy brain of his, but I felt like he was holding something back from me. He clearly didn’t feel like talking just yet. I suspected it had something to do with his feelings for Pete’s widow.

  We parked in the driveway behind a new BMW and I noticed a woman standing at the front door. As I climbed out of Natty’s low Camaro, I realized the woman was much younger than I thought she’d be, probably not yet twenty-five. Her loose blond hair, blowing in the breeze, made her look like the girl next door. The beautiful one. Her face lit up as soon as she saw Natty. She wore jeans and a bulky sweater and those crazy boots younger women tended to wear, the ones with the name like “Neanderthal.”

  Natty introduced us and she had good manners, smiling as she shook my hand and looked me in the eye. She said, “Thank you for helping us. The Newburgh police have been polite, but they showed no real interest in Pete’s murder.”

  I hadn’t realized that Natty had told her I was taking the case. I liked her direct approach.

  She served us iced tea as we sat on the couch. I couldn’t help but glance around at her collection of the Peanuts characters in all shapes and forms, from ceramic to stuffed. The place had a certain childlike warmth to it that I was sure came from her. Even though they didn’t have any kids, there were stuffed animals lying around on chairs and her beagle lay quietly in the corner, wearing a homemade knitted sweater.

  Katie noticed my interest in the surroundings and said, “I use the toys for my job. I work with kids and they like to play with stuffed animals.”

  She sat down on a plush chair across from me, and for the first time I noticed her bloodshot eyes. She had been crying. Maybe it was a cumulative effect from the last few days. I felt her sense of loss.

  It made me think how easy it is to write off shootings reported on the news. No matter who was killed—a drug dealer, a gang member, or some poor guy walking down the street who was hit by a stray bullet—they were someone’s husband or child.

  Katie said, “A detective talked to me on Saturday, but I could tell he was just going through the motions. I’m not stupid, I knew Pete was involved in some shady business, but we had an understanding. I didn’t ask as long as he was careful. He also promised me he never hurt anyone. I know that our relationship wasn’t perfect, but anything you could do to help find out who killed Pete would mean the world to me.”

  I said, “I’ll do what I can, but right now there are absolutely no leads. I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about the night he was shot.”

  “No one could ever say Pete wasn’t a hard worker. He was ambitious. He worked every Friday and Saturday night. It was one of the things that had driven us apart. I don’t know what he was doing the night he was killed, but he usually wandered home around two or three in the morning. The Newburgh police came by and told me what had happened somewhere around one.”

  “Can you think of any reason someone would want to kill your husband?”

  She just stared at me with those wide blue eyes and shook her head. “Pete was a great guy. No one wanted to hurt him.”

  She stood up and took our glasses into the kitchen. A few moments later, she was back and sat on the arm of the chair that Natty was sitting in. She draped her hand across his shoulder and gave him a hug and a kiss on the top of his head. It was a show of affection for comfort. But it was obvious.

  Natty avoided eye contact with me as I got a clear picture of what was going on. This was not a one-sided relationship.

  Chapter 8

  MY BROTHER AND I were quiet on the ride back through town to his office. I couldn’t help but notice the number of abandoned buildings downtown and the lack of effort to clean up any of the garbage along the street or in vacant lots. This place was an advertisement for the “broken window theory” of government.

  When we were inside the State of Mind Tavern and seated at Natty’s personal table, he turned to me and said, “There’s probably some more you need to know about what’s going on.”

  “No kidding.” I just stared at my brother, who remained silent until I said, “I’m listening.”

  Natty looked around nervously. The bartender who doubled as his bodyguard was used to me by now and didn’t pay too much attention to our conversations. Finally, Natty said, “Katie told me she loved me, too. I mean, um, we’ve developed sort of a relationship. You know what I’m saying.”

  “Since Pete was killed Friday night?”

  “No, it’s been going on for a little while. She mentioned to you how they had drifted apart.”

  “But you said you thought you loved her. Didn’t you also say she was faithful to Pete?”

  “That’s true. It’s just how we feel about each other. It’s not like we’ve slept together. She’s not that kind of girl.”

  I appreciated the fact that my brother could still surprise me. I considered his awkward confession and finally said, “You didn’t have anything to do with Pete’s murder, did you?”

  Natty looked hurt. “Do you have to ask?”

  “Yes, of course I do. Natty, you’re a criminal by trade. You’ve got a thing for a guy’s wife. If the cops knew this you would be their only suspect. So I have to ask if you killed Pete.”

  Natty looked down toward the table and shook his head. “No, I didn’t kill Pete.”

  I leaned back in the chair, tipping it up on the rear two legs as I looked at my brother and decided I believed him completely. That didn’t change the fact that his relationship with the widow of his friend and business associate wouldn’t look good if word got out. Deep down I had a feeling I wouldn’t express right now: I liked the idea of my brother interested in a nice girl like Katie who wasn’t involved in a scam or part of his usual world.

  As I was still considering this new information, the front door suddenly opened and the room filled with sunlight.

  Mike Tharpe and another detective stepped in the doorway and made a quick scan of the bar. Tharpe walked toward us while his partner faced the bartender. I recognized the good tactical sense.

  Tharpe kept standing as he looked at Natty and said, “You’re under arrest. You want to make it easy or do you want to make it fun for me?”

  I was the one who said, “What’s the charge?”

  The meaty detective didn’t even glance at me. “Homicide. We got some forensics back on a weapon we recovered. It was Pete Stahl’s gun.”

  I said, “So why does that make my brother a suspect?”

  “His fingerprints were on it and we think the DNA we’re testing now will come back to him. You wanted me to clear this up and this is how I’m doing it. Now you don’t have to worry about finding out who killed your friend.”

  “You didn’t know any of this earlier today when we were talking?”

  “You made me realize I had to do something, and when I checked with the lab, this is what came back. I want to thank you for doing your civic duty and motivating me.” He motioned for my brother to stand up and did a quick pat-down, then handcuffed Natty behind his back. In the big scheme of things, it was a fairly civil interaction, considering my big brother was going to jail.

  Chapter 9

  AS THE TWO detectives led a handcuffed Natty out of the bar, he turned to the bartender and said, “Call Lise.” Then he looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, little brother. For once, I’m innocent.”

  I stepped to the door to watch them stick my brother in the back of a black Ford Crown Victoria. Apparently the New
burgh Police Department had gotten a pretty good deal on the model. I stayed on the curb until the Ford pulled down the street and out of sight.

  The few people on the street didn’t seem interested in a nonviolent arrest.

  When I stepped back inside I said to the bartender, “Who’s Lise?”

  The surly bartender barely looked up from the ledger he was working on and said, “Best attorney this side of the city. She changed everything when she showed up last year. Natty is as good as out on this bullshit. I just called her and she said you can go by her office around five. She’ll know something by then, after she talks to the DA.”

  That was more words than the bartender had ever spoken to me.

  I debated calling my mom but wanted to have more information first, so I drove around Newburgh to get a better feel for the city. It had a bad reputation, but I had learned that cities, just like people, rarely matched the way they were portrayed in the media. Almost every other year, Newburgh was listed as the most dangerous city in New York or given some title like “Murder Capital of the State.” And to be fair, it had been flooded with drugs, guns, and gangs, in that order. But there were a lot of people trying to make it a better place to live. People who understood that working with at-risk kids could have the biggest payoff down the road. I noticed adults coaching kids in every park and mothers keeping a close eye on their toddlers as they played. They were families, and that meant there was still hope for Newburgh.

  I found the law office on Ann Street near downtown. The building was a typical three-story brick, block-shaped structure with a little grocery store stuck awkwardly to the side. Lise Mendez’s office was on the second floor, and of course there was no elevator. The building housed a couple of lawyers, an accountant, and a financial planner. It was a drug dealer’s dream. When I found the right door, there was no name painted on the glass, just a card taped in the corner. This did not instill confidence as I stepped into the room and realized the reception area was unused and empty except for a couple of chairs. I heard a voice in the inner office say, “In here.”