Part 2
But no body.
I searched the entire apartment from top to bottom but found no
corpses, Italian or otherwise. The blood was isolated to the carpet
in the living room - the bedroom and bathroom were both busted up in
much the same fashion as the other rooms, but nothing stood out as
evidence that might lead to answers. In the trash barrel underneath
the computer desk, I found a pile of torn up photos of Angelina and
her ex-boyfriend Billy, apparently taken on and around Belvedere
Castle in Central Park. I found an envelope and collected the pieces.
The only other noteworthy item I found was in the small space between
the refrigerator and the adjacent counter ??" a plane ticket.
Destinazione: Roma. Must have been held by a magnet to the side of
the fridge and fallen (there are certain places where helpful clues
tend to crop up, and such a space is one of them).
I'd think about it all later -- time to flee the crime scene. I
filled
up a new dish of milk for the cat (soft spot for animals, don't tell
anyone), then walked into the hall and closed the door behind me. I
turned around and ran smack into an elderly man, who had quietly come
up the stairs.
"They all done in there?" he asked.
"Done what?"
"Done arguing. Damn man and woman were arguing loud as hell. Walls
are thin in this building, and I couldn't stand it anymore, so I
left."
The old man went on to tell me that it had sounded like an argument
about a relationship. He knew his neighbor Angelina, of course, and
said he had seen the man, Billy, come around frequently in the past,
though not as often recently.
I thanked him, then headed outside. Almost midnight. I pulled out my
cell phone and called the police. I'm generally not one to involve
cops when I can avoid it, but something clearly had happened, and
Angelina could very well be injured but alive somewhere. I have a
pretty good relationship with a detective at the nearby precinct house
??" once in a while, I throw him a bone, and just as frequently he
returns the favor. I got him on the line, gave him the address, and
hung up before he could ask any questions. It wouldn't be long before
he questioned the neighbor, found out an ex-boyfriend was involved,
and searched Angelina's apartment for his info. Billy was their next
logical target, and mine as well.
As I write this, I realize I've changed a lot over the years. If a
similar situation were to happen now, I'd be much more prone to
leaving it to the police to handle. After all, there was a likely
chance Angelina was dead, meaning there was an even more likely chance
I wouldn't be getting paid. Why waste physical and mental energy?
Sure, I could lie to you all and say I was counting on finding her
alive and collecting a fat reward, but the truth of the matter is, she
was pretty, and I don't like when people fuck with my pretty clients.
Like I said, this is ancient philosophy, but more on that later.
Time to track down Billy. I arrived at the jazz club at 12:30, where
Billy's band was in full swing. The place was filled with smoke (back
when smoking indoors was allowed in New York), and was packed with
about every type you can imagine, from lounge lizards to college
students trying painfully hard to look hip. Billy was standing on the
stage in the middle of a wild solo on his sax, and I politely waited
until after the applause had died down before working my way forward.
He took his seat, and I sidled up to him. I yelled to him that we had
to talk about the argument he had with Angelina earlier. He kept
playing, but glanced down at me with a suspicious eye.
"Her place has been trashed and there's blood everywhere."
He let out an extra large breath of air and missed the next note,
causing the rest of the band to glance over and give me bad looks.
Billy continued playing for a moment, then dropped out the song and
got off stage.
He led me through a black-curtained doorway. On the other side was
what you'd call the Green Room if you were on a late-night talk show,
only in this particular club, it could only be described as the back
room ??" a dingy shoebox of a space with concrete walls and a few small
round tables for the performers to kick back a few drinks at before
going on stage. A few musicians were smoking idly or chatting with
their dates.
Billy led me to a vacant table, and we both sat down.
"Here's the deal," I said. "I'm a private detective. I just came
over from your ex-girlfriend's apartment. The place has been torn
apart and there's blood on the carpet. I have at least one witness
who knows you were there earlier in the evening. Hope you have a good
alibi."
"Listen man," he began, looking totally shocked, "Angelina called me
and asked me to come over. Did she hire you?" I didn't move.
"Doesn't matter," he continued. "Everyone knows we ended on bad
terms. I left her for her younger sister, and she wasn't too happy
with the both of us."
"Not what she said, man," I replied. "She said she left you, and you
were pissed off at her."
He laughed, though not the type of laugh that suggested he found
anything funny. "Crazy bitch. Look, I broke it off with her to go
with her sister Tina a few months ago, and she's been furious at both
of us ever since. Every conversation has been an argument, and just
when it seemed like it was getting to a dangerous level, she
disappeared. Nothing for a few weeks, then I got the call tonight. I
can't believe I even went over there. She said she was heading back
to Italy, and wanted to say good-bye. I went over, and she started to
chew me out. Screaming and yelling - fuck that. I left after fifteen
minutes."
"So you don't know how the place got torn apart? Don't know where she
is now?"
"No clue."
"All right," I said. "You can go play now."
He laughed again. "Yeah, right. How long before the cops get here?"
The sound of sirens answered his question. He looked at me to see if
I'd try and stop him, but I stayed still. He threw his sax in its
case, then bolted out the backdoor into the alleyway. I followed
suit, as talking to cops was the last thing I wanted to do at this
point.
So two completely opposite stories and no reason to believe either. I
headed home.
The next morning, I got a phone call that put things in perspective.
Angelina's body had been found down by the Hudson River a few blocks
over from her apartment.
(to be continued)
Administrative Note:
The Administrative Staff will taking a holiday from comment-moderating, resuming operations Tuesday.
Have a nice Labor Day,
A.S.
Posted by captainhoof
at 7:37 PM CDT
Updated: Thursday, 2 September 2004 7:49 PM CDT
