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  “Hey, who stood you up?” Marty said after a hug.

  “I had a chat with Graves this morning. Thought dressing like a lady wouldn’t hurt. It didn’t, but it didn’t help either.”

  “This gonna be a long story?”

  “No story at all. I just wanted your company. It’s been a while. What are you drinking?”

  “My usual.”

  She went to the bar and got two of his favorite beers. “This one really hit me,” she said as they poured. “Bowman. The guy who held Micah Anthony’s life in his hands. I don’t often feel murderous.”

  “Don’t say it. Maybe he’ll get a stiff sentence.”

  “The only homicide we can tie him to directly, where he held the gun in his hand and shot, is of a lowlife named Manelli. The other killers are dead.”

  “Thanks to Bowman.”

  She nodded. “Tell me about the family, Marty. I want to hear how the kids are doing.”

  He obliged her and she listened, smiling at the stories. Along the way she got them another round. While she was at the bar, a cop she didn’t know tried to pick her up. She grinned at him and walked away with her two bottles.

  At six thirty she told Marty to go home. Beth would have a super meal waiting for him. He invited her to join them, as he always did, and she declined, as she always did. She hadn’t called Flora back yet, and that had to be done tonight. And she wanted to get into a pair of jeans and sneakers. But seeing him had been the right thing to do. He had lifted her spirits.

  48

  THE CALL TO Flora took longer than Jane had anticipated. Flora wanted all the details Jane could give her about the case. That Bowman had been involved was shocking. More than involved, Jane told her. Probably the mastermind. Finally they made a date for dinner and Jane got off the phone.

  In jeans and a cool shirt, she sat with the class lists of prospective lieutenants that MacHovec had pulled that afternoon. What she was looking for—or perhaps hoping not to find—was in the first one after Anthony’s death. Sgt. John Beasely and Sgt. Garrett Fitzhugh were in the same prep class. It was the first link she had found between the two men.

  She checked the next year’s class and found them both again. Perhaps they had taken the exam and not placed high enough; perhaps they had opted not to take it the first year so as to score higher with more preparation.

  She called Beasely’s district and asked when he was expected for his next tour. Nine the next morning, she was told. That gave her about twelve hours to decide what, if anything, to do.

  In the morning she went to Centre Street and told Annie she had some loose ends to tie up. The two lists were in her bag when she went down to the subway to ride to Beasely’s district. She was directed to his office and he called for her to come in when she knocked.

  “I’m Detective Bauer, Lieutenant,” she said.

  “Bauer.”

  “Yes. I visited your wife last week.”

  “You had no right.”

  “I had the permission of my lieutenant, sir. Inspector Graves didn’t know about it until you called him.”

  “Why are you here?” He was a tall, handsome man, fit and muscular, very dark skin, a face barely concealing rage.

  “I want to know your relationship to the late Sergeant Fitzhugh.”

  “Who?”

  “I think you know who I mean, Lieutenant.”

  “I had no relationship to him.”

  “You knew him.”

  “I did not.”

  She leaned over and dropped one of the lists on his desk. Two names were circled in red.

  “We were in a class together. What does that mean?”

  “It’s the timing that’s interesting. It was after Detective Anthony was murdered and before the big heist in the subway, the four cable trucks. I’m sure you recall that.”

  “I recall it.”

  “I have the chronology of the murder, the heist, and the renovation of your kitchen.”

  “How dare you, Detective. How dare you insinuate that I had anything to do with those events.”

  “All I want is information, sir. I have no intention of trying to tie you in to the theft.”

  “I have no information to give you.”

  Jane dropped the second list on his desk, again with two names circled in red. Beasely glanced at it.

  “Then I will have to recommend an investigation.” She got up, put her bag over her shoulder, and moved away from the desk.

  “Wait a minute,” Beasely said. “Maybe I can be of help to you.”

  Jane took her seat, putting her bag on the chair beside her. “Who masterminded the theft?”

  “Fitzhugh.”

  “Not Bowman?”

  “I didn’t know there was a relationship between Fitzhugh and Bowman until you arrested him on Tuesday.”

  “How much did Fitzhugh pay you?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “What was your part in the theft?”

  “I had no part in the theft.”

  “What did you do to earn the kitchen?”

  “I will deny this conversation took place.”

  “No one will know about it. I need to tie up loose ends. The theft in the subway is connected to the murder of Micah Anthony.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “It may seem that way, but it’s true. Sergeant Fitzhugh needed money to keep the men involved in the murder quiet. That’s where he got it.”

  From the look on Beasely’s face, it was clear he had never made the connection. “Shit,” he said softly.

  “Yes, sir,” Jane said.

  “I was essentially a lookout. That’s all. Fitzhugh wasn’t even clear what was going down, just that he needed someone that night in three different places at three different times, and he would see to it that I was compensated. That’s the whole story.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She doubted that that was true. He probably knew much more, but she had most of what she wanted. “Can you give me any names of people involved in the theft?”

  “No, I can’t. You’ve gotten all I know.” He looked at his watch. “I have work to do, Detective. I’m sure you do, too.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for your time.” She didn’t retrieve the lists she had put on his desk. They would be something for him to think about when his wife served him dinner that night in their expensive kitchen.

  The rest of the case was a mountain of paperwork. If there were no paperwork, there would be no CASE CLOSED stamp; it was as simple as that. Whether Garrett Fitzhugh or Charley Farrar pulled the trigger on Micah Anthony was impossible to determine. Probably both of them were in the car with Anthony that night, and the gun belonged to Fitzhugh, so it was a reasonable assumption that he had done it.

  It was likely but not provable that Salvatore Manelli had been the man in the subway who shot Charley Farrar. The gun found in the automotive shop had been the murder weapon, but the team believed Bowman had given the order. Catty Fellows looked at photos of Manelli and Bowman but declined to identify them.

  There was no question who had shot Manelli. The way the hierarchy had been organized, it was doubtful Randolph could contribute any meaningful information, although he was considering a plea deal that would reduce his sentence if he copped to the theft of the two hundred twenty-seven guns from the armory.

  The question of whose decision it was to leave the Beretta in Riverside Park still rankled. Bowman denied everything and spoke only with an attorney present, giving up almost nothing. Jane believed it was Charley’s idea, that Bowman was too smart to do anything like that. But it was just a belief.

  Frank Graves walked around with an aura surrounding him. He had cracked the Micah Anthony case. He had done what no one else had been able to do for ten years. In addition, his team had gone a long way toward clearing the case of the huge TA theft.

  When all the forensic information had been collected and the Fives were typed, Graves took McElroy and the team out to lunch to thank Smithson f
or his work. Defino was invited too. It would be summer before he would return to work, but he was feeling better each day, happy to come into Manhattan for a good lunch. Even MacHovec looked spiffed up for the occasion.

  That afternoon, Smithson cleared his things out, shook a lot of hands, and went back to his detective squad. The Micah Anthony case was closed.

  49

  THE SUMMER WAS shaping up nicely. Defino would be back soon. Graves was making eye contact with Jane. Jane had arranged to take two whole weeks of vacation in July, one week of that with Lisa, who would fly to New York and stay with her. Jane’s father was ecstatic. He would meet his granddaughter and the three of them would tour the city.

  Jane planned to spend at least some of the second week with Hack. His apartment was working out well. The air-conditioning alone was worth the price, he told her. Much better than what he had lived with on Long Island for twenty years. On hot nights that would be the place for her to stay, much cooler than her bedroom with a window unit.

  But before all that, there was Medal Day.

  Medal Day was as beautiful as days in June can be in New York, the sky bright blue and cloudless. John Bauer, dressed in his new summer suit, took the subway to Manhattan and met Jane before the ceremony, which took place in the plaza just west of One PP. He sat in the section reserved for relatives of those receiving awards. He could hardly keep from smiling.

  Hack had arranged with the chief of D’s months earlier to award the medals, a favor the chief had granted while Hack was still working in the chief’s office at One PP. A photograph would come out of the ceremony of him bestowing the medal on Jane, a photo he could hang in his office and look at with pleasure.

  The ceremony went flawlessly. Hack was introduced as Chief Dan Hackett, and he proceded to give medals and shake hands. Jane was one of the first, as they were given in alphabetical order. Her happy smile matched his. For a moment, as he shook her hand, she thought he might lean over and kiss her, but he just looked at her, smiling, for her benefit alone.

  When it was over, Jane found her father and they hugged. He looked at the medal in its presentation box and read the inscription.

  “This is a great day,” he said. “I wish your mother was here to appreciate it.”

  “I’m sure she knows, Dad.”

  “You’re right, Janey. As usual. You look great. I haven’t seen you in uniform for years. Fits you real good.”

  “You look great, too, Dad. That suit is gorgeous. I hope you have lots of opportunities to wear it.”

  He turned toward the stage, where the bosses in their white shirts were gathered, talking and laughing. “Looks like a fine man,” John Bauer said.

  “Who’s that?”

  “That Chief Hackett who gave you the medal.”

  “He is, Dad, a very fine man. Would you like to meet him?”

  “Could I?”

  “Sure. Come with me.” She took his arm and led him to the stage, feeling the gentle breeze. They walked to the group of bosses and she stopped. “Chief?” she said.

  Hack turned, his surprise visible. “Detective Bauer?” “Yes, sir. My father wanted to meet you, sir. Chief Hackett, my father, John Bauer.”

  The unflappable Chief Hackett was clearly unprepared for this meeting. “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said, offering his hand.

  “And for me, too.”

  “You have a wonderful daughter, Mr. Bauer.”

  “Oh, I knew that the minute I laid eyes on her, Chief, all those years ago. I knew what a treasure I had, and I’ve never been disappointed.”

  And then, to Jane’s utter disbelief, Hack put his arms around her father and gave him a hug. Then he stood back and smiled at Jane, a smile of pure pleasure. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for bringing your father to meet me.”

  The moment ended, and Jane and her father went back down the stairs and started up the aisle.

  “Is he the one?” her father asked.

  “What do you mean? Which one?”

  “The one you kept from your mother and me all these years?”

  Stunned, Jane stopped walking and turned to face her father. “Dad.”

  “I could see,” he said. “I could see the way you looked at each other. Is he?”

  “Dad, you must never tell a living soul.”

  “You can trust me, Janey.” He was beaming.

  “No one. Not even Madeleine. No one in the world.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Oh, you think I’m old and I don’t know what’s going on. I knew there had to be someone. You’re the most wonderful girl in the world. There had to be a man that loved you, even if you couldn’t bring him home.”

  “You never asked me.”

  “I knew when the time came, you’d tell me. I figured today was the time. I’m glad he’s the one. I’m glad I got to meet him.”

  She took his arm and they continued their walk. Flora was up ahead, waiting for her, another introduction her father would enjoy. Flora was all smiles, heaping accolades on Jane. The three of them walked out together. Jane asked Flora to join them for lunch, but Flora had an appointment.

  “I’m glad I lived to see this day,” John Bauer said.

  “So am I. Let’s go eat.”

  She had made a reservation at a good restaurant in the Village. They would eat and Jane would take the subway back to the Bronx with him, over his objections. Later in the day her cell phone would ring and a voice would say, “Your place or mine?” and she would make a decision. Right now she was happy to be with this wonderful old guy who had proved he was smarter than a lot of young ones. Sometimes it was good to be surprised.

  By Lee Harris

  The Manhattan Mysteries

  MURDER IN HELL’S KITCHEN

  MURDER IN ALPHABET CITY

  MURDER IN GREENWICH VILLAGE

  The Christine Bennett Mysteries

  THE GOOD FRIDAY MURDER

  THE YOM KIPPUR MURDER

  THE CHRISTENING DAY MURDER

  THE ST. PATRICK’S DAY MURDER

  THE CHRISTMAS NIGHT MURDER

  THE THANKSGIVING DAY MURDER

  THE PASSOVER MURDER

  THE VALENTINE’S DAY MURDER

  THE NEW YEAR’S EVE MURDER

  THE LABOR DAY MURDER

  THE FATHER’S DAY MURDER

  THE MOTHER’S DAY MURDER

  THE APRIL FOOLS’ DAY MURDER

  THE HAPPY BIRTHDAY MURDER

  THE BAR MITZVAH MURDER

  THE SILVER ANNIVERSARY MURDER

  Books published by The Random House Publishing Group are available at quantity discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational, fund-raising, and special sales use. For details, please call 1-800-733-3000.

  Murder in Greenwich Village is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Fawcett Books Mass Market Original

  Copyright © 2006 by Lee Harris

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Fawcett Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  FAWCETT is a registered trademark and the Fawcett colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

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  eISBN: 978-0-307-41613-1

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