Episode 17: "Above the Law"
Day One
Scene One
"Jimmy?" Christie called across the room as Jim stood at his desk with his back to her, preparing to leave for work.
"What?" he snapped.
Christie scrutinized him. "What's the matter with you?" she demanded.
"Nothing, I'm fine."
"No, you're not. You've been a grouch ever since you got up this morning."
Jim turned around to face her, looking sheepish. "You're right. I'm sorry."
"Well, is something wrong?"
"No, I'm okay."
"Jimmy," she chided, "you know what Dr. Cohen said. . . ."
"Okay, okay. I think I'm going stir-crazy. We haven't had any new homicides in two days, and I've been stuck in the squad, catching up on paperwork."
"So," Christie suggested with a smile, "you're grouchy because no one's gotten killed in your precinct for the past two days?"
"It sounds pretty bad when you put it that way, but, yeah," he agreed, grinning. "So what did you want to ask me?"
"Oh. . . I have a late meeting and I thought we could get together for dinner after. Maybe it would cheer you up, if you don't get a homicide to cheer you up in the meantime."
"Okay, I'll call you."
He really was going stir-crazy, Jim thought ruefully as he rode the train to work. When their last new homicide came in, Lt. Fisk had assigned it to Marty. To make matters worse, Karen had been stuck in court for the last four days at the trial of a gang-banger they'd collared for a drive-by shooting a few months back. No telling when she'd be back in the squad. Jim had been relegated to doing follow-ups on Marty's case and finishing the follow-up reports on his and Karen's last case. There was no getting around it – he was bored. Well, he consoled himself, he was up today, so any new case would come to him. Then an unwelcome thought occurred to him. What if Fisk ignored the usual rotation, because of Karen's absence? Surely he wouldn't do that, not after all this time.
Scene Two
At about 3:30 on the afternoon, Fisk hung up the phone and emerged from his office. "Who's up?"
"I am," Jim answered. He removed his earpiece, grateful for the respite from the annoying computer-generated voice he'd been listening to all day.
"We have a DOA in an apartment on Avenue B between Second and Third. Uh . . . Marty, you go with Jim." He handed Marty a slip of paper with the address. "Hit it."
Marty and Tom exchanged questioning looks. Marty shrugged and grabbed his coat. "Ready, Jim?'
"Yeah, let's go." Jim already had his coat on. He grabbed Hank's harness and followed Marty out of the squad.
Scene Three
Marty stopped the car and turned off the engine. "This is it," he told Jim.
"Okay." Jim got out of the car and opened the rear door for Hank.
"You're taking the dog?" Marty asked.
"Yeah, until we get to the scene."
The uniformed officer at the front door let them pass. "Third floor, rear," he told them.
The climbed the three flights and headed for the door which had another uniformed officer standing next to it. "What've we got?" Marty asked.
"Victim's in the bedroom. Hispanic female, mid-twenties. Neighbors say she's Alicia Reyes, the tenant of the apartment. Looks like it may be gang-related. When you get in there, you can see . . ." He broke off, with an embarrassed look at Jim.
Marty sneaked a glance at Jim, but his face remained as impassive as usual. "Let's check it out," Jim said. "Hank, stay." He reached into his coat for his cane.
"You don't need that," Marty said, moving into position so Jim could take his arm. "Here."
"You okay with this?" Jim asked as they walked across the apartment's living room.
"Sure," Marty responded, "why wouldn't I be?"
Jim shrugged. "Never mind." He bumped into the frame of the bedroom door, but didn't seem to notice. "What've we got?"
"Looks like there was a struggle. Slats of some of the blinds are bent, and one panel of the curtains is torn and pulled down. Stuff from the dresser is on the floor. The lamp from the night stand, too. She's lying on her back next to the window. Someone wrote "ES13" on the mirror, maybe in lipstick."
"East Side Trece."
"Yeah," Marty agreed.
"If there was a struggle, why didn't anyone hear it?" Jim wondered.
The uniformed officer who had met them at the door spoke up. "The building's pretty deserted during the day – most people are at work."
"Who called it in?" Marty asked.
"One of the neighbors came home early from work and saw her front door standing open. She thought it didn't look right, so she went inside and found her."
"What do the neighbors say about the possible gang connection?" Jim asked.
"They say she hadn't lived here long, but she was a nice girl, quiet, a student at CUNY. She was going to be a grade school teacher. They never saw any gangbangers coming or going from her apartment."
Jim turned to Marty. "Can you tell anything about cause of death?"
"Hang on. Let me take a closer look." Marty left Jim's side and carefully walked across the room to the victim. "The only thing I can see from here is some bruising on her neck."
"Like she was strangled?"
"Yeah, maybe."
"Crime scene's here," the uniformed officer informed them.
"Thanks." Marty went to give directions to the crime scene crew, then returned to the bedroom. "We done here?" he asked Jim.
"Yeah, I think so."
"The patrol sergeant gave me her mom's name and address. I guess we'd better make notification. Jeez, sometimes I really hate this job."
"Yeah," Jim agreed.
Scene Four
They rode in silence for about a block. Then Marty spoke up, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," Jim replied, a little guardedly.
"When you asked me, back there, if I was okay with this, what did you mean?"
"Nothing. You just seemed a little stiff, you know, uncomfortable."
"Did I do something wrong?"
"You did fine. Relax, we're good."
"Okay."
They lapsed into silence again. Jim turned away and smiled to himself, reflecting that not so long ago, Marty was the last person he would have expected to be concerned about something like that.
They rode in silence for a few minutes, until Marty stopped the car at a red light. While waiting for the light to change, he looked at Jim thoughtfully. Finally, he said, "You know, Jim, I can't imagine how you could accept it, being blind, I mean."
Jim turned toward him, surprised and a little curious. "What makes you think I have?" he asked.
"I don't know . . . I guess . . . you seem so matter-of-fact . . . like, well – like it's no big deal."
Jim sighed. "What do you want me to do, Marty? Bitch and complain about the fact that I can't see?"
"No, of course not," Marty replied. "Forget it, I'm sorry I asked. I didn't mean – "
Jim cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I've learned to live with it, that's all."
Scene Five
Fifteen minutes later, they were seated on the couch in Elena Reyes's small, crowded living room. She sat in a chair opposite them, overcome by grief. Marty had been unexpectedly gentle when breaking the news to her, but there was really no way to soften the devastating impact of the news he'd delivered. Now they were hoping she could regain enough composure to answer a few questions.
"She was a good girl," Mrs. Reyes sobbed. "Why would anyone do that do her?"
"That's what we need to find out, Mrs. Reyes," Marty answered. "We're hoping you can help us."
Jim added. "Something that looks like a gang symbol was written on her mirror –"
Suddenly angry, Mrs. Reyes interrupted him. "Don't you come in here and accuse her. I told you, she was a good girl. She would never get mixed up with gangsters. She wasn't."
"Can you think of anyone who might have done this? Was she having problems with anyone?" Jim asked.
"No, there's no one. She was a wonderful daughter. Everyone loved her." Mrs. Reyes broke down and began sobbing again.
Marty started to look to Jim for confirmation that they were done. Then he remembered the non-verbal communication he used so often with Tom wasn't possible. He spoke to Alicia's mother instead. "Mrs. Reyes, I think we're done for now. But if you think of anything, anything at all that might help, please call us." He handed her his business card. "Is there anyone you can call to be with you?"
"My sister-in-law," she replied.
"Then we'll be on our way," Jim told her. "We're very sorry for your loss."
Back in the car, Jim closed his phone after reporting to Lt. Fisk. "He says we might as well call it a day and pick things up in the morning. We should have the preliminary reports from crime scene and the ME by then."
"Okay," Marty replied. "Can I drop you somewhere?"
"Oh, shit. . . . ," Jim muttered.
"What's the problem?"
"Christie and I were planning to meet for dinner somewhere. I was supposed to call her, then we got this call. I'm screwed." Jim groaned and cracked his neck.
"Oh, man, you're toast," Marty agreed. "You better call her. I hope you're good at groveling."
Jim dialed the phone and got Christie's voice mail. "Hey, it's me. Sorry I didn't call earlier, I got a case. I'm on my way over to your office now. Love you."
"You know, Jim, if I was married to a beautiful lady like that, I'd be damn sure to keep her happy."
"Yeah," Jim agreed, absently. You don't know the half of it, Marty, he thought. He hoped Marty would never know the whole story. "Can you drop me at 53rd and Lex?"