8: An In-Service Date

The most confused we ever get
is when we try to convince our heads
of something our hearts know is a lie.

Karen Marie Moning

Nicole entered the dark, noisy bar, filled with beer-swilling, off-duty officers and wrinkled her nose, pulling her jacket tighter around her. St. Jeremy’s Ale House, located a short distance from the Hudson River and FDR Drive, was a unique environment. One better suited to the abandoned fish market district than the newer South Street Seaport it bordered. She peered past the different groups until spotting Em waiting along the side. She headed for Em’s table, edging around cops waving their arms while describing the day’s exploits. “Your partner didn’t make it?” she asked, removing her jacket.

Em rolled her eyes. “Nah, he claimed he didn’t want to get in the way. I’ve got a cold pitcher, though I’ve been whittling it down. What about the folks from your office?”

Nicole rocked the unsteady table, watching the glasses skeptically. “They weren’t so direct, but felt the same.” She glanced around at the bar’s patrons, wrinkling her nose at the oversized bras hanging from the patterned tin ceiling. “So what do you think of the overflowing testosterone? It’s a New York tradition with a forty-year history of blatant sexism. I wasn’t sure whether you’d like or be repulsed by the vibe. I generally avoid it myself. Mike likes to discover what the cops on the street think. Since everyone shuts down whenever he shows up, he sends us to act as his eyes and ears. The locals swarm around me, bragging about whatever they’re up to.”

“This is my first time here. I visit a local bar the cops from my precinct frequent. Even then, I don’t visit bars much. Yet, this is just up my alley.”

The acoustics worked in their favor, Em could understand why the commissioner preferred it as an information source. The noise in the crowded bar was just shy of a din. You couldn’t quite make out what anyone said—assuming they spoke quietly. However, wandering between tables, it was easy to overhear many conversations. It wouldn’t be difficult to park beside whichever one intrigued you and learn quite a bit.

Nicole framed the patrons as a background for Em as she poured herself a drink. “Yeah, it makes sense. You have that ‘tough as nails’ look.” She arched an eyebrow. “Do you really like these places, or do you like proving you can keep up with the guys?”

Em surveyed the busy bar and smiled. “No, I feel comfortable in this environment. I didn’t join the police force to prove myself. Instead, I got into it because I think like a guy. I enjoy hanging around with them. We think alike. I’m physical, I love figuring out what motivates people, and I like being challenged.” She stretched out her legs, crossing her heavy boots at the ankles before continuing. “It’s not to say I’m a bull-dyke, by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m intensely competitive. While I like competing against women, I prefer how men push each other and demand perfection. If one more woman tells me I’m doing well-enough, I think I’ll scream. The things which turn my girlfriends off make these places attractive to me.”

Rather than delve deeper into Em’s psyche, Nicole switched topics, dropping her voice. “So what did the coroner say? Did he discover anything?”

Em snorted as she took a sip, setting the glass heavily on the table. “No. He confirmed she died long before her suicide was staged and put the time of death long past midnight. No one’s likely to have a solid alibi when everyone is asleep. I’ll have to ask our prime suspect’s wife where he was at the time. But the time of death means they kept her alive for about eight hours after they took her from the house.”

“Good luck with an alibi from his wife,” she responded, keeping the comments generic as she glanced around. “From what I hear, she’s angry enough she might tell you he marched out in the middle of the night carrying an axe. She’s not taking the news of his cheating particularly well.”

“I can imagine. I’ve spent a fair amount of time balancing girlfriends, yet every day, I expect one to take a shot at me. I realize I’m playing against the odds.”

“I’ll admit, I’ve never known that sort of activity to pan out. They either make a stupid move, or everyone gets fed up and walks out.” She considered Em for a moment. “How are they taking it?”

Em shrugged. “So far, terrific. I go out of my way to give them my all. After being so overwhelmed, they’re glad to be left alone for a while.”

“That probably helps. Most people who play the field ignore their partners. That’s what sinks them, not being there when they are. After being in too many non-committed relationships, having someone pay attention to me only for short periods might be a nice change.” Nicole took another sip, combing her hair out of her face with her hand when it threatened to fall into her beer. “So what about the video? Have you identified anyone from the motel camera?”

“As a criminologist, you’ll enjoy this. I didn’t understand it until it was explained to me. The videos show the person who rented the room, but all it shows is a male approaching the desk. His face is nothing but a bright glare.”

“Did someone monkey with the videotape? Or did the clerk not notice the getup?”

“It’s a little-known fact. Most video cameras include infrared imagery for better low-light pictures. If you insert an infrared display under your hat, it creates a glow which obscures your face. What’s more, since it’s not visible, no one knows.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a clever criminal. What about the clerk. What could he tell you?”

“That’s even more interesting. Even though unnecessary, they went above and beyond what was needed. The clerk said the man wore his hair over half his face, dark makeup under his eyes and had his collars flipped up covering part of his face. The clerk thought it was a fashion statement and remembered the details, but it was actually a clever disguise.”

“Did you get a decent sketch then?”

“Nah, the clerk stared at the outfit rather than the individual.”

Nicole frowned, scratching her head. “I don’t get it. If they made the person more memorable, how does it disguise anything?”

“That’s the other bit of trivia. It completely disrupts our facial recognition software. Or at least it would have, if we’d captured any. Facial recognition expects certain patterns. They’re thrown off by non-synchronous faces. They expect two dark spots for the eyes, a clear forehead, and recognizable cheeks and nose. By obscuring the face with hair or drawing a dark line, you confound the system because it has nowhere on the face to focus.”

“Clever. Damn, I’d never have known.”

“No, few of us ever encounter that kind of thing even after years on the force. But it gives us a better idea of who we’re dealing with. Instead of someone experienced with the criminal justice system from either the legal or criminal elements, we’re dealing with intellectuals. Someone spent a lot of time researching how to avoid detection, but doesn’t fully understand how to apply the research. They weren’t sure the infrared trick would work, so they duplicated their effort. It shows they think they’re clever but have little experience with the techniques. It means we’ve got some very intelligent amateurs.”

“So an experienced cop wouldn’t pull such a trick?” Nicole asked, raising a brow.

“Exactly. They’d know enough to only use one or two elements instead of a half-dozen. This reeks of people too clever by half.”

“Unless someone’s trying to defray suspicion.”

Em shook her head. “Again, it’s a wasted effort. If there’s no evidence, why confuse the issue. Instead, such overkill draws attention to the thing they’re attempting to hide. Criminals, cops, lawyers, judges—essentially everyone involved in law—understand the need to keep things simple. The people who give overly confusing answers are those who’ve never been in trouble.”

Nicole left her almost finished mug on the table as she rubbed her chin. “So that leads us to someone?”

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t. This is Manhattan, the home of twenty-one million overachievers if you include those who work in the city. Each anxious to stab someone in the back to get ahead, most vastly over educated and eager to show how clever they are. However, it again points to someone involved with the councilman’s job; someone unfamiliar with crime but who’s intelligent, overachieving and intent on winning.”

“So no Russian ‘businessmen’? I guess we’re back to square one.”

“Not quite. Whoever is behind this is making errors. It’s time to crank up the heat. If they’re dancing as fast as they can, their steps get sloppier. Now, we have a lot of errors but still no suspects. What we need is a serious misstep which will identify who’s responsible.”

Em paused, glanced at her empty mug. Nicole wasn’t far behind. “Ready to move this discussion somewhere private and discuss something other than work?” she asked with a wink.

Nicole cocked her head. “You have someplace particular in mind?”

“Yeah, there’s a little lesbian spot a short hike from here.”

“Really? I’m not familiar with any in this end of town.”

“There’s a new underground bar. It’s not exclusive to lesbians, but it’s a little more ... comfortable than here.”

Nicole grinned. “And I thought you liked it here.”

“I would if I was alone. When I’m with someone else, I aim to make them happy.”

The blond grabbed her purse. “I’m ready to go. As much as I’ve enjoyed our talk, I’d rather concentrate on you. We keep talking shop because we’re surrounded by cops.”

Em laughed, laying down a few bills to cover the tip. “Where you’re going, you’ll still be talking to another cop.”

They both stood and slung on their coats. “At least you’re better looking than most beat cops.”

They were outside and walking south before Nicole asked the obvious question. “We’re hardly avoiding the crowds. We’re heading directly for thousands of people.”

“Yeah, I lied about the lesbian bar. Clearly, there aren’t any in this section of town.”

“You thought two lesbians visiting an unknown lesbian bar wouldn’t attract a bar full of horny straight men?”

Em laughed, stopping and leaning into Nicole. She whispered in her ear as she glanced over her shoulder. She stood so close it looked like she was nuzzling her ear. “They’d be fascinated, which is what we want. We want them talking, but they’re unlikely to follow us. They’d stand out at an exclusive bar catering to gays like a sore thumb. No one is trailing us anyway.”

Turning around again, she wrapped her arm around her companion and pulled her close as they set off again.

“I could get used to this. How far of a hike is it?”

“Only a couple of blocks.”

“Wait, are we heading for the South Street Seaport? The biggest tourist trap in downtown Manhattan?”

“We’re aiming for a fancy wine bar. A place few cops would frequent and where they’d be obvious. It’s public, but still private. It’ll be loud enough few will hear us, but no one will pay attention to us.”

Em led them to El Porto’s, at the far end of the South Street Seaport. It stood at the corner with plenty of tourists wandering by. Because of the weather, the restaurant wasn’t full. When Em requested a table in the back, the maître d escorted them to where it was sparsely populated.

“Now this is much closer to my style. Even if it’s a little too public, at least it has decent wines.”

“I thought you’d prefer it.”

Nicole glanced around. “Have you been here before? Do you know what’s good?”

Em shrugged. “I’ve taken a few dates here, mostly girls from out of town. The lobster Paella is good, but then again many people prefer the fish n’ chips. Whichever floats your boat. However, given the prices, I think we’ll order single glasses if you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t. After all, we’re here to concentrate on business, though you don’t mind if I continue flirting. Just to keep in practice, you understand?”

Em laughed a staccato burst of chuckles. “No, go ahead. Like you, I’m more comfortable teasing pretty girls. I only like filthy bars when I’m with the guys.”

Nicole glanced around, determining who might overhear before venturing anything. “It’ll take the waiter a little while to get to us. What else do I need to know?”

“Right now, I’ve ruled Mike out of the running. But without a motive, or a stupid move by those who committed the act, we’re still swimming.”

“Boats, swimming, seaport, seafood; you’re pretty good at maintaining a theme.”

“Hey, stick around and I’ll rock your world like a hurricane.”

“Ah, there’s the Em I know and love.”

“There are several things Mike needs to understand before the news conference tomorrow. You’ll meet him before I do, so you can brief him on what to expect. I can’t give you any more actionable evidence than I have, but it should be enough to reassure him.”

“You may not suspect him, but that doesn’t mean everyone else won’t.”

The waiter chose that moment to appear, so they paused long enough to order, preparing for a detailed discussion.

As Em exited the elevator, headed down the long hallway to her apartment, a door opened behind her.

“Ah, I’m glad I caught you.” Amanda approached then hesitated, glancing at her hands. “Remember when you ... said you ... owed me for helping out with your family?”

Em smiled. She realized her neighbor lived hand-to-mouth as a struggling singer, so she wasn’t surprised she’d ask for help. She knew how proud Amanda was and appreciated how difficult this was for her. “So you’re already calling in your card?”

Amanda cracked a grin. “Yeah, I guess I am. I’ve got an ... event this Sunday, and I need a ... date for it.”