CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

4:30 a.m. flashed in neon blue on the digital clock as Isabella DeFranco’s cell vibrated relentlessly on the bedside table. Reaching over, she knew it was a follow up text from Billy. She was already awake from her phone call with him..

“Shit,” she said to herself, as she buried her head in her soft down pillow and pulled the silk-lined duvet tightly around her shoulders. She listened to the morning rain tapping against the windows and lay still, peeking out at the steady stream of cars moving across the bridge in the distance, little specks of light traveling, one after another, all on their way to somewhere.

Their conversation still rang in her head:

wife of a hedge fund guy, mother of two, sexually assaulted and murdered in Greenvale

.

Greenvale?

Bella sat up in her bed. She had heard of the place but it was way out of her jurisdiction—about an hour north deep into Westchester County, land of the rich, beautiful, and carefree. Why the hell was he calling her in on this?

She hauled herself out of bed reluctantly and went into the bathroom. With eyes half opened, she looked in the mirror at her long, wavy auburn hair and began to brush it out of its unruly mess into a sleek ponytail. She brushed her teeth, still half asleep, sprayed on perfume, put some eye cream under her big, green eyes, and dabbed Vaseline on her pouty lips, the extent of her morning beauty routine. Back in her bedroom she slid into tight jeans, black leather ankle boots, and a black tight-fitting button-down. She contemplated making her bed but decided it wasn’t worth the time—not like anyone was coming to visit.

Bella pondered Billy’s call as she drove to the precinct. She was not thrilled at the thought of being sent into a suburb. She had never spent time in small-town America—not that Greenvale was going to look or feel anything like the rest of country—and she had no particular desire to do so now. She had seen enough to know the rich and powerful lived differently than the rest of humanity: holed up in expensive digs, maybe to avoid lesser beings who were different or, God forbid, poor, they seemed to be a breed unto themselves. She remembered a conversation she and Ryan, her ex-boyfriend, once had when he suggested they buy a house in the burbs so she could switch gears. That idea had gone nowhere fast.

Bella kept her eyes on the dreary roads of the Bronx, squinting through the pouring rain. It would be another day in paradise.

Bella arrived at the precinct and walked into Billy’s office carrying two cups of steaming hot Dunkin’, but was surprised to see he was not alone. In a corner stood a hulking man of 6’3’’, 280 pounds, long, dark, wavy hair graying at the sides, a chiseled face with strong cheekbones, and a jawline covered in gray stubble. He wore a black T-shirt, black jeans, and black combat boots, like her. He looked to be in his mid-fifties and didn’t crack a smile or fawn over her like most guys. His expression remained constant as she entered the room and Billy greeted her. It was an expression of boredom.

“Bella, Bella,” Billy said, his face brightening when she walked in. “Come in. Is this coffee for me?” he asked, noticing two cups in her hand. Without waiting for an answer he took a cup, opened the lid, sipped, and sat back in his chair with a contented look on his weathered, crinkled, lovable face.

“How did you know this is just what I needed, darling?” Billy asked.

“It’s five thirty in the morning and you’re sitting here in this crappy office. It wasn’t much of a stretch,” Bella answered.

He grinned, took a few more sips, and said:

“I have someone I want you to meet. This is Detective Jimmy Menendez. We call him Mack.”

“Who’s we?” Bella asked, her eyes meeting Mack’s.

Mack looked amused and extended his hand to shake hers, exposing a large tattoo splayed across his right forearm, a woman wrapped around a snake, with the name Mary underneath. His hands were big and rough and his grip was strong.

“Morning,” was all he said.

Mack looked like a grisly version of Benicio del Toro, Bella thought.

“Mack, this is Detective Isabella de Franco—we call her Bella,” said Billy.

“Gotta love the pet names,” was all Mack said.

“Sit down, you two,” Billy instructed.

Neither Mack nor Bella looked at the other as they sat.

“So is this how we’re getting started?” Billy chided when he saw the mutual lack of enthusiasm. “Come on, kiddies, act like the adults you are and get over whatever the hell it is that’s grabbed you. This day is just getting started and it’s going to be a long one.”

Of all people to load on her Billy had called Jimmy fucking Menendez. It wasn’t enough he was sending her out to some purebred, snooty suburb, but it appeared he was making her go with an old-timer whose drinking problem was lore in the precinct, having become so bad it had interrupted his career. She had heard his name referred to and had heard the rumors—he was a hero to some and a waste of a life to others.

“With all due respect, Billy, what is this?” Bella asked. “What’s going on?”

“Dennis needs some help,” he began. “He’s a close friend, hell, he’s like a brother, and he’s twisting in the wind right now. Mack is going to keep you company, provide some support. I know you are not going to be thrilled about working this and I get it. But if this thing isn’t solved, and solved quickly, it’s his career. He needs me, which means I need you.”

She looked at Mack and wondered how the hell a guy like him was going to blend into a suburb. Besides his height and size, he looked to be Cuban—not a problem for her, but she didn’t think the odds of him connecting with folks in suburban land were very high. He looked more like a character out of WWE than a guy who could mingle with the refined.

“Mind filling me in?” Mack asked Billy, sounding tired. “You woke me out of my pretty little slumber to come in here and I’m still in the dark.”

Bella cocked her head to the side to check him out more carefully. He was actually very good-looking, underneath his demeanor and his scruff, but he seemed like a prima donna, big time.

Billy took a deep breath and brought them both up to speed on what he knew: a female found dead with signs of sexual assault on a yacht at an exclusive marina up north. Name: Joslyn Freed. Husband: powerful hedge fund manager Jamie Freed. Two daughters in high school. Manner of death unknown.

“There was a big event at some club up there last night. Hundreds of people there. But this thing has a twist—that’s why you are both here.” Billy paused and rubbed his hair. “It’s not just about her.”

“What do you mean?” Bella asked.

“Last month, two high school seniors were found dead in the town, hanging in a garage. The girls’ deaths were ruled a double suicide and the case was closed.”

“OK?” Bella’s brow furrowed.

“When the girls were brought down from the rafters each had a ribbon around her neck, with a crest at the end, like some kind of trophy. Reason Dennis is in such a panic is because the crest has shown up again—Joslyn Freed had one hanging around her neck.”

He stopped for a minute so they could take in what he had said. Neither said a word.

“Looks like our killer is having some fun,” Billy noted.

“Why me?” Mack asked.

“Why him indeed?” Bella added.

“My guys are spoken for—knee deep in other matters. This is not our usual circus of clowns, kids.” Billy spoke slowly, looking back and forth between the two of them. “This one’s going to attract press like bees to honey—the media trucks are already lined up. If it gets out there’s a link between the murder and the high school girls, all hell will break loose. On top of that, these folks are cut from a different cloth—they’re used to being handled delicately. We need a real gentle touch.”

Bella looked over at Mack and smirked. Billy read her mind.

“That’s your department, my dear. Mack’s got his own kind of leverage.”

Billy and Bella exchanged a look.

“Bella, he’s an old-timer,” Billy continued as though Mack wasn’t in the room. “We have worked together for longer than I can remember. I called him out of his self-imposed sabbatical”—this with a sly look at Mack—“because I think you two complement each other and will work well together. You each have what it takes to crack this one open and to do it quickly.”

Bella sat back and frowned, clearly not happy.

Billy turned to Mack.

“Bella’s become my girl in sex crimes. She practically runs these cases down singlehandedly. She’s an ace in the hole. I want you back in the game, my friend, and this could be the one to do it,” Billy said with a glint in his eye.

Mack kept his gaze on Billy, but cracked a slow, smug smile. Billy continued:

“This thing has to be solved yesterday or I am telling you, heads will roll, especially Dennis’s. I need you to work it together, no drama.” Billy leaned forward in his chair and studied the two of them with that look Bella knew too well.

“I am asking for a favor here. I know it’s to neither of your likings, but I am asking for a favor. Dennis hasn’t had to deal with much more than traffic violations for twenty years. I’ve got Brad and Marlowe working the Ritgar murder, Chase and Tony jammed up, the Clayton Boulevard case going nowhere fast.”

“I have some leads on Clayton,” Bella said, although that wasn’t exactly true. “Let me stay on it and send Quinn up to Greenvale. I am getting somewhere.”

“Not fast enough. Besides, Quinn wouldn’t know what to do with all the women,” Billy said with resignation in his voice. “Hell, you’re about to enter girl land, what with all the victim’s friends, her daughters, the high school girls, the mothers—forget about it. Quinn won’t know which end is up. As soon as you wrap this one up then Mack, you can go back to doing whatever it is you do these days, and Bella, you can have that long-deserved vacation you refuse to take.”

“Working a case in Greenvale will be vacation enough.” Bella sounded deflated.

“Ah man, you didn’t mention it was Greenvale,” Mack said, rubbing his chin. “I actually spent some time there in my youth.”

“Ha,” said Billy. “So did I.”

“No, seriously, I knew a girl who lived there…” Mack trailed off.

Bella couldn’t tell if Mack was joking or not, but Billy seemed to consider the possibility it was true.

“Good, then my gut was right you were the one to call,” said Billy. “It will be familiar territory for you.”

“We didn’t much make it out of her bedroom, but I might remember how to get back up there.” Mack chuckled, as though his comment was adorable.

Bella was not amused. She was used to guys like him. Pure testosterone and arrogance, so full of themselves they couldn’t find a clue if it hit them on the head, especially if the clue was about themselves.

“OK, let me tell you what I want,” said Billy.

He got up from his chair and came around to the front of his desk, where he stood directly between them, like a principal with two students. In an almost fatherly tone, he looked at Mack and said:

“You need to get back in the game, my friend. It’s been long enough. Put those goddamn demons back in their box and give me what I need here.”

Demons? Shit, thought Bella. Billy was going for the jugular right in front of her, which she didn’t much appreciate. She stole a glance at Mack and noticed he didn’t react to the comment at all. He looked as emotional as a worn-out trucker being told his route for the thousandth time.

Billy then turned his attention on her.

“Bella, we are one off on this one, gonna be playing catch-up. I’ll provide support on my end. You’re my girl. You two head up there and see what you can learn.”

These were the magic words. When Billy told her she was his girl that meant there was no point in arguing. This was a done deal.

She nodded to Billy as she stood up, and Mack followed her lead, stretching as he sauntered into the corner to get his black leather jacket off the coat hook.

“I guess that’s the thing about life, Billy, the thing I’ve never quite gotten used to,” Mack said, as he put his motorcycle jacket over his shoulders. “You can start the day a stone cold loser—and end it a hero.”

Billy looked surprised at the comment and for a split second Bella thought she saw concern in his eyes.

Mack shrugged.

“Or you can start the day high on the hog—but by bedtime be dead.