Friday 25th April

Staten Island Ferry, "Senator John J Marchi"

Goren sat in the corner of the large cabin space as the boat cleared the dock area and began to pull away with greater speed to make the twenty-five minute crossing. He had been emerging from the Chambers Street subway station when his cell phone rang. This time of day it was the quickest and most practical way of getting to Staten Island.

The rest of the space was almost empty with the flow of commuters in the morning rush more or less one way. To Manhattan. Though he himself was not alone as he watched Mike Logan making his way back from the snack bar. With a couple of cups of coffee and what looked like a bacon roll held in his mouth.

Eames had switched a leave day with her old classmate from the Academy, Matt Desmond, so he could do something domestic. Goren had half expected Faith Dempsey to be at the ferry terminal when he arrived. Logan, as he explained when they went on board, just got "unlucky". Was one of the few around in the Squad Room when the report came in and by chance, slightly knew one of the victims.

The alert from the Island precinct, because yesterday he and Eames had posted a request for notification, when crimes of a particular type occurred. Ones that fit the pattern they were sure they had after re-interviewing the hijacked trucker, the Goldfarbs and others over the last couple of days. And persuading colleagues in New York and New Jersey States to check out some specifics on the examples in their jurisdiction. It proved someone was sharp on Staten Island or perhaps hopeful they could "hand it over" to Major Case.

Just as local precincts sometimes resented HQ based squads, getting as they saw it, disproportionate glory when things went well, there were other times cases looked like a poisoned chalice. Ones they were happy to pass on as quickly as possible. Whether Logan was thrilled to be returning to the place he felt he'd been "exiled to" some years back was another matter. His record since Jim Deakins gave him a chance at Major Case was very good, but memories were long, many not so forgiving or inclined to give you a second chance. And the story of what Mike actually did much exaggerated and embellished in the telling over time.

It had never been in Goren's nature to heed gossip and though very different in personality and style, they had always gotten along fine. Respected each other and, after the time he almost went "off the deep end" himself eighteen months ago, Goren felt he'd got a second chance too. At his whole life.

Logan set down the cups, removed the bacon roll from his mouth and sat down. Pulled from his pocket both the despatch slip and one of his old notebooks he'd actually managed to find in the untidy mess was his desk, before he rushed out.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours Bobby" he said chewing and wiping some grease off his mouth.

Since they shared a locker room Goren doubted there would be too much novelty for either of them in one thing that might mean. Instead, he slid over his folder at the page with the most recent and very basic descriptions of the six or possibly seven men and one woman he and Eames had pegged as the same people and part of this gang. As much as a grim joke, they were calling them the "Tarantino Gang".

"See why you called them that" said Mike reading the typed sheet. "All this Mr Green and Mr Pink stuff. How many you got them good for?"

"For certain? Three in our patch, possibly four, one in Westchester assuming they stole the credit card of the missing jeweller and now a hijack in New Jersey" he tapped the page. "Re-interviewed and asked about specifically about smell, one of the security van drivers remembered bad body odour on the smallest guy when he tied him up. Same thing Mr Goldfarb did"

He did not tell Mike how Eames had rolled her eyes when he told her the name for excessive sweatiness was "hyperhidrosis" and that if it was more than just a sweat panic or bad hygiene, the guy might have a thyroid problem. Which was why he asked the Jewish jeweller specifically about the eyes. She had quit referring to him a "walking medical dictionary" some years ago.

"Shit!" muttered Logan studying the brief summary of 'methodology'. "Threatening to strap a bomb under an armoured truck is a new one on me. Though when you think about it Bobby made like they are these days, once you get it stopped how do you get in or get them to open up?"

"If it was real" shrugged Goren picking up his coffee. "And not sure if it was me I'd take the chance on it being a bluff"

Logan chewed. "Me neither and I guess these other half dozen cases can't be ruled out on the basis of vague descriptions. Men all in black with ski masks has always been the required dress code for these kind of jobs"

"Uhuh. So tell me what you know about the Jarman family"

Logan wiped his fingers and reached for his notebook.

Lighthouse Hill, Staten Island

Ben Jarman appeared to vaguely recognise Logan when they stepped into the million dollar plus residence set in a lot of ground, like others in the street. He had been captain of the golf club or something when Logan had been sent there to investigate what he called "rubbers in the rough". More accurately, various incidents of minor nuisance and damage to the course turned out to be, as expected, a bunch of kids. You could understand why Mike had loathed his time on Staten if that was typical.

Goren left him to interview Jarman while he went to speak to the second much younger wife, Lesley and their eight-year-old son, Robert. Last night someone claiming to be one of the neighbours knocked on the door around midnight, which got an unsuspecting Ben to open it. Next they knew four men were swarming through, tying them up and using threats against the wife and child to get him to tell them where valuables were.

About twenty thousand dollars worth of jewellery in the small safe, according to Lesley not the best pieces stayed in safe deposit, but more particularly the whereabouts of three modern paintings. Jarman owned a successful gallery in Tribeca, had just opened a second on the Island and had been moving stock from one to the other in his Mercedes. Rather told you why it didn't always pay to penny pinch on a security truck to do such things. If they were worth the fifty grand he claimed.

A neighbour, seeing the drapes still drawn and no answer at the door, summoned the cops when she saw Mrs Jarman tied up in the kitchen. They broke in to discover husband and son still bound in different rooms. Why Jarman, despite the peephole, opened to a stranger was easily explained. The CSU technician at the door pointed it out. The bulb in the security light that should have illuminated the figure on the porch was removed.

"You think maybe Bobby and I could talk alone Mrs Jarman?" Goren said understanding her instinct to protect but sure she was inhibiting the kid. "Sure some of my colleagues would appreciate coffee"

"It's Robert" she told him looking like that would be a burden on her with the daily maid being questioned elsewhere.

Goren waited for her to leave.

"I'm Robert too" he said to the kid and getting up to inspect a remote control car on the floor of the living room.

"Cool car. Ferrari?"

"No" said the child in a scathing tone. "They have a horse on the front. The bull is a Lamborghini"

"So it is. Birthday present?"

The blond boy shook his head. "The other one went in the pool by mistake. Dad got this one last week"

"I need to talk to you about what happened Robert"

"I know. And Bobby is okay. Mom only calls me that with company. And when she's mad with me"

"My Mom was the same"

"Was?" frowned the child. "Does that…is…er …your Mom dead?"

"Yes she is"

The boy looked at him "I guess you are kind of old so she must have been. To die I mean"

"She was sick"

"Can I call you Bobby?" his lip was trembling

"Sure"

"I…I thought those bad men…were…were going to hurt…to kill my Mommy" he began to cry. "And Dad"

"Come here son"

Goren took the boy in his arms for the hug he suspected his angry and distracted parents had not given Bobby since they were untied.

And oddly enough Robert Jarman gave Robert Goren some of the best information they got. Hog-tied on his bed he confirmed the presence of "a stinky man" and had heard something his parents, who were downstairs, had not. One of the men whispered the name "Slugger" to another on the second floor landing.

They might be up to seventy grand to the worse and terrified, but at least none of the Jarman's had been hurt. Before they got a ride back to the ferry, Goren and Logan had also been able to help CSU. One of the technicians had spotted the ropes seemed to be tied very neat and professionally. Goren's time in the Cub Scouts had been brief and not very happy where knots were concerned. Something he always attributed to being a southpaw. It was Logan who quickly identified the proper names for various knots and even confessed he'd got a merit badge for it.

JFK Airport

She walked through security to the first class waiting area with seventy thousand dollars worth of jewellery. The most distinctive pieces from the Jarman and Moffat hauls. Those that would be too "hot" to get top dollar for them at legitimate dealers in New York. The cops would circulate descriptions and those people checked.

Miami would be different and at least she was free of Marty's attentions. They had transferred, as she planned to that silly girl Crystal. Left them to it the other night after the pair of them put on a nice show for him first.

Which left Clarkson just her business partner and her free to concentrate all her "personal attention" on Frank. And with enough scotch inside him, she doubted he would be in a position or condition to bother her that often.

To be continued…