Seven Ways to Die Read online

  “Si, start working on back stories. You know how far you can go with that.”

  “Yes sir,” the little man answered.

  Cody looked up at the timer.

  “We’re two hours and twenty-four minutes into the show.”

  “Same song, new verse,” Rizzo said.

  “Maybe. But I have a feeling this is one song we’ve never heard before.”

  11

  Cody and Kate Winters took the elevator to the garage on the first floor. Rizzo was waiting, holding the rear door of a black Lincoln open for them. They crawled in and Rizzo got behind the wheel. The large steel garage door rolled up.

  “Where to, Cap?”

  “Financial district,” Cody said. “Exchange Place, across the street from the Stock Exchange.”

  “Easy one,” Rizzo said. “We’ll cut over to Broadway and head down. Ten minutes.”

  “No rush.”

  Rizzo snaked his way through Little Italy, turned onto Broadway and headed south toward the few cramped blocks that formed an empire whose heart was the stock market; its blood, dollars, Euros, yen, and market shares; and brokers the jaded knights that jousted for power and control over its fortunes. Its main artery was Wall Street, which someone had once called Heart Attack Alley. And little wonder. Millions could dissolve in a day because of bad weather in Texas, a bad crop in Kansas, some sick cows in Canada, or a Ponzi scheme outed. Compared to this win or lose fiefdom, Las Vegas was a nickel-dime poker game.

  Δ

  Victor Stembler was one of the elite members of a round table of multi-millionaires who were major players on the street. He had inherited his seat from his father, Chester, who in turn had inherited it from his father, Sidney, Victor’s grandfather, a robber baron of the old school who had made his first fortune in the railroad business.

  Victor’s genes came from Sidney, a ruthless but charming rogue who loved the competition almost as much as the money.

  Chester was neither charming nor competitive, he was simply greedy. A humorless and stingy alcoholic bigot, he had forced one of his partners, Herman Marx, out of the business because he hated being in business with a Jew. He had endured Trexler, reduced to a junior partner because he was smarter than Chester. It was a known fact that Chester had kept the name Marx, Stembler and Trexler because he was too cheap to spend the money to change letterheads, logos, and various other accoutrements attached to the corporation. He had died in his private rail car traveling from San Francisco to New York. His death was attributed to a heart attack although Victor liked to say his father, “choked to death on his own gall.”

  Victor had taken over the business and was soon known on the street as a man to be reckoned with. But his only son, Victor, Jr., had drowned in a yachting accident. And his daughter, Linda, had no taste for the business.

  Raymond Handley had come along at the perfect time. He was handsome and charming, captain of the Princeton Lacrosse team, a top student and a ruthless competitor, who had worked his way to the top in the corporation with a combination of talent and an instinct for the jugular. And he treated Linda like a princess.

  The perfect candidate for a future son-in-law.

  Victor was delighted when his daughter fell head over heels for Handley. At sixty, Stembler was smugly successful and looking forward to shorter days in New York and more time on his backyard tennis court in Boston.

  Δ

  Cody didn’t know any of this background. Larry Simon would later fill him in with the details. He only knew he was about to give Victor Stembler a very hard kick in the head and he felt badly about it.

  He and Kate exited the elevator on the top floor of the building across the street from the Stock Exchange. Stembler’s office was on northeast corner of an elegant hallway, its teakwood walls and floors subtly lit by antique lamps on pedestal tables. It was deathly still.

  “A little depressing, don’t you think?” Cody said in a half-whisper.

  “I think we’re supposed to be intimidated,” Kate answered.

  When they reached Stembler’s office Cody tapped on the door and they entered the secretary’s lair which was a bit cheerier although the secretary, whose placard told them was Eleanor Wood, was archly solemn, archly coiffed, archly dressed, and archly challenging.

  Cody tried a smile. She reacted as though he had committed a mortal sin. He got serious. He handed her his card.

  “My name’s Captain Micah Cody, NYPD Tactical Assistance Squad. This is my associate, Assistant District Attorney Winters. We’re here to see Mister Stembler.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, Ms. Wood. It’s a matter of some urgency.”

  She looked at the card, snapped it with a fingernail, and looked back at him. “He’s on the phone,” she said sternly.

  “Tell him we’re here, please.”

  “I can’t interrupt him. It’s an international call,” and she leaned forward slightly, “of some urgency.”

  As she said it, the red light on her multi-line phone blinked off.

  “He’s off the phone now,” Cody said with quiet authority. “Tell him we’re here or I will gladly save you the trouble and go in and tell him myself.”

  “Really!” she said, her eyes widening.

  “Yes really,” he said. “Now.”

  She turned sharply and entered Stembler’s office closing the door behind her.

  “I thought she had the jump on you for a minute there.”

  Cody answered with his usual cryptic smile.

  The secretary returned. “Mister Stembler will see you now,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Cody said and motioned Kate to go in first. The office was large but not expansive, tastefully decorated and brighter than the hall and the secretary’s anteroom. They were facing his desk, which was waxed to perfection. The phone, a leather writing blotter, a pen set, a cigarette box and matching ashtray and a gold lighter were all placed in perfect symmetry. There was a sofa and a coffee table in one corner, two leather trimmed chairs in front of the desk, and large windows on the walls to their left and right, one overlooking the East River, the other the Hudson.

  Stembler was a tall man, six-one or two. His gray hair was neatly trimmed as was the pencil thin mustache that lined his upper lip. He had a tennis tan and stood as erect as a king’s guard. He was wearing a pinstripe double-breasted suit with a flash of silk in the breast pocket and he was smoking a cigarette.

  He spoke in a deep, cultured voice. “Well, uh,” he looked at the card, “Captain Cody, what can I do for you?”

  “Raymond Handley works for you, doesn’t he Mister Stembler?” Cody said.

  Stembler looked annoyed. He took a drag on the cigarette. “Raymond is a vice president of this company and about to become a junior partner and my son-in-law, which I’m sure you’re aware of,” Stembler snapped.

  “He’s dead,” Cody said.

  Stembler’s attitude vanished. His tan seemed to drain from his face, replaced by skin the color of an oyster shell. His hands shook and his lips moved a moment before he spoke. Kate stared at Cody, a bit shocked by his abrupt disclosure.

  “My God,” Stembler said. He crushed the cigarette in an ashtray and sat down. “Why? What happened?”

  “He was murdered in his apartment sometime between midnight and six this morning. We don’t think he was robbed, nothing seems to have been taken.”

  “How?” Stembler said, his voice turning hoarse.

  Cody hesitated for a moment. “Somebody cut his throat,” he said.

  “Why? Why would somebody do such a thing?” Then he added, “Please sit down.”

  “We were hoping you might give us some help with that.”

  “I don’t know anyone who had any reason to kill Raymond. Oh my God.” He wiped his face with the silk handkerchief. “I have no idea. Maybe he caught someone breaking in, maybe…”

  “I don’t think that’s an option.”

  “Not an option? How can you be so sur
e?”

  “The circumstances indicate he was killed by somebody he knew.”

  “There was a fight, then.” It was a statement.

  “I really can’t give you any more details. We’re not sure of anything until after the autopsy.”

  “My God, an autopsy.”

  “It’s the law,” Kate said. “Any time someone dies violently…” She let the sentence dangle.

  “Could it be business-connected?” Cody asked.

  He quickly shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

  Stembler’s mind was now racing to other things. Telling his daughter and his wife. Wedding plans to be canceled. Dealing with the press.

  “He has no family that I know of. Just us. My daughter. My wife, Elizabeth. His associates here at the office.”

  Cody looked at Kate and she nodded.

  “We need an official ID on him,” Cody said. “Are you up to that, sir?”

  “ID? Oh, yes. Where? When? What can I tell my daughter? Linda’s going to be devastated.”

  “We’re trying to keep a lid on this, Mister Stembler,” Kate said. “My suggestion is that we wait until you officially ID him, then we can release his body to the funeral home. That way the cosmetician can do some work on him before she gets here.”

  The talk of a funeral jolted him. Stembler looked like he was going into shock.

  “Is there someone you can talk to here?” Kate said. “You look like you could use a shoulder to lean on.”

  “I’ll be alright,” he said. He lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “Have to make a list. So much to do.”

  “I’ll talk to our coroner about the ID. Perhaps after lunch would be convenient.”

  “Sooner the better. I’ll have to alert our pilot. I have to get back to Boston and tell Linda.”

  “I have to ask this, Mister Stembler,” Cody said. “Is there anyone in your company who would have anything to gain by Raymond’s death?”

  “Nobody,” he said, still staring at the ceiling. “Everyone knew Raymond was irreplaceable.”

  Cody nodded.

  “One request,” Stembler added, giving Cody a piercing look. “Leave my daughter out of this. She’s very fragile… She doesn’t handle emotion very well.”

  Δ

  The elevator was empty on the way down. Cody didn’t say anything for the first few floors.

  “I could use a cup of coffee,” Kate said.

  “Me too. There’s a coffee shop on the corner.”

  “I’ve never had to do that before.”

  “There’s no easy way to do it, you know,” he said. “All that pomp and circumstance. And you know you’re going to pull the rug out from under him. A man with everything and with two words you turn triumph into tragedy. You just have to throw it on the table and let it play out.”

  He was silent until they hit the main floor.

  “All of a sudden there’s a face on the dead man,” Kate said. “It’s nice to know someone loved him. It kind of balances the way he died.”

  “Yeah, it’s nice to think so. You’ve had a tough first day and it isn’t even lunch time.”

  “Comes with the territory, right?”

  “Dog work,” he answered.

  “Are you going to interview Linda Stembler?”

  “Only if I need to,” Cody replied. “She didn’t kill him. She knew nothing about his moonlighting activities.”

  “How can you be sure?” Kate asked.

  As they left the building they heard a screech above them and looking up saw a peregrine falcon swoop between the buildings. It dove low and circled over Cody’s head and then swept back up and darted away. He stared at it hypnotically.

  “It’s that falcon that nests uptown,” Kate said excitedly. “Have you seen it before?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes.”

  As the bird dove behind a building, a chill streaked through him. He shook it off.

  “You okay?” Kate asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I was thinking about options.”

  “Options?”

  “Yeah. Like ruling them out, narrowing the field. Take Stembler. When I mentioned options he just phased out. He was so busy worrying about the consequences of Handley’s death suddenly he didn’t care who killed Raymond or why.”

  “The hauteur of the successful business man,” Kate said.

  “Right. What happened to Raymond no longer has any validity in his world.”

  They reached the door to the coffee shop and he looked up as he held the door open for her, his eyes tracing the arc of the falcon as it swept through the spires of Wall Street.

  “Maybe he wasn’t a specific target.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Suppose his murder was nothing personal. Suppose his addiction put him in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “You mean an accident?”

  “No. Maybe Raymond was picked at random. Maybe he was the victim of some perverse, unthinkable kind of rage.”

  12

  In the autopsy lab, Wolfsheim and Annie Rothschild had completed their work and replaced the parts of Handley’s body they had removed for analysis. Annie Rothschild, who had some medical experience before becoming a police officer, had been working as Wolfsheim’s denier, his assistant, when he performed autopsies.

  A petite brunette in her early thirties, Rothschild had all the rigid criteria for a spot on the squad but it was Wolfsheim who had recommended her after watching her at trial during a difficult cross examination by a high profile defense attorney. She had lured the lawyer with simple “yes” and “no” answers on some details of a particularly brutal homicide. Thinking he could make a fool of her on the stand, he had thrown some intricate pathology questions at her.

  To his chagrin, she not only had acquitted herself admirably with her keen knowledge of forensics but had led the lawyer into uncharted waters. Watching her dismantle the lawyer’s defense, Wolfsheim realized that Rothschild had carefully orchestrated her performance as a witness to make the lawyer look like a fool. His client was convicted and Annie had become a prime candidate for the TAZ.

  While they were completing their work they had both listened through earphones to the initial debriefing Cody was conducting in the HQ so both of them knew what had been accomplished thus far. They washed up and crossed the hallway.

  Wolf entered the room rumpled and enervated like a sigh waiting to be uttered, his eyes temporarily atrophic from the demands of minute scrutiny, his fingers gnarled by restless and constant exploration, his shoulders bowed by the relentless probing and dismemberment of what had once been Raymond Handley.

  As always, his psyche was momentarily askew. He performed each autopsy compassionately. They were constant reminders of the finite line between life and death, between the human body and a corpse without a soul.

  And there had been the physical demands: cutting open the body and dictating his findings into the microphone that hung just over his head; looking for signs of mischief in the intricate collaboration of veins, capillaries, and arteries that stitched together the pulpy organs that had supplied and supported life to the now smelly, inanimate mess that lay before him; collecting blood and fluids and slicing sections of bones; examining the lifeless eyes and slicing open the skull to reveal what secrets the brain might reveal; weighing heart, liver, lungs, kidneys and the myriad other elements of the once miraculous human machine that he was dissecting in his quest for whatever explicitly had destroyed it.

  Wolfsheim finally set free a sigh, took the cup of black coffee Vincent Hue offered him, shook off his momentary lapse of objectivity and smiled at her.

  They knew what had killed Raymond Handley.

  And this one was a beaut.

  It wasn’t what killed Raymond Handley but in what order. Handley’s homicide was a masterpiece of misdirection, leaving a conundrum that Cody and his crew would ultimately have to pull out every stop to unravel. Why had this k
iller resorted to such deviltry murdering Handley when killing him straight out could have been so much simpler?

  That was Cody’s problem. But Wolfsheim wasn’t ready to spring that question. He had his own method of briefing the members of the TAZ. Briefing was, he liked to say, a continuous educational process. So he began by reviewing what the squad already knew.

  Wolfsheim sipped his coffee. Then he began his lecture, his build-up to the autopsy findings.

  “Micah and Bergman did a great job on entry,” Wolf said. “That was great tracking. And Annie followed up sweeping the whole scene. What we can ascertain for sure is that this was a prepared crime scene. The killer came in first, probably with a key supplied by Handley, and set up the scene of the crime in the library.

  “I think we will also assume from the tracks in the carpeting that Handley came in, went straight to his bedroom, undressed, and then walked barefooted to the library where the killer was waiting. Handley walked with the killer to the chair and willingly permitted the killer to handcuff his hands and feet to the arms and legs of the chair. This is when it gets dicey.

  “As you know,” he went on, “we try to ascertain the initial cause of death and the last event prior to death and if there is a time lapse between the two. For instance, let’s say a woman is hit by a car. She is rushed to the hospital where it is determined she has catastrophic blunt trauma. Also internal bleeding. Examination shows a broken rib has pierced the heart and she is bleeding internally. Loss of blood has been severe. The rib is removed and the heart is sewn up but the woman dies. Initial cause of death was blunt trauma. The last event prior to death was shock caused by internal bleeding. The time lapse was continuous so the final ruling would be that the cause of death was trauma from the automobile accident.

  “In this case, the initial cause of death appeared to be a stabbing or piercing of the throat which was a catastrophic wound. It was a slash from left to right which cut the jugular, all other blood vessels and the windpipe. However, the absence of blood puts the initial cause of death in doubt. Further examination of the body revealed a small puncture wound in the left carotid artery, similar to that left by the insertion of an IV. We also know that approximately two liters of blood were drawn from the body using the IV as a siphon. That’s almost half of the body’s blood supply and would have resulted in extreme trauma to the heart. The result would be a lowering of blood to the brain, shock to the heart. Ultimately lethal.”