7
Designed Intent
Chapter 60
Monday Midmorning
"Do you know Melvin Turnbuckle and Sylvester Brine?" Bobby, Eames and Krezemsky sat in one of the interrogation rooms.
"I know no such people," Krezemsky responded with a Russian accent.
"No, see, we think you do," Eames interjected. "In fact, we think you ambushed those two, shot them dead and then stole the duffle full of ancient Russian liturgical items."
The Russian shook his head, "Pretty little detective, I ambush no one. What, New York is now the Wild West with ambushes?" He scoffed his disdain.
"Do you know these people?" Bobby placed the eight-by-ten black and white photos of the three murder victims found that Friday night and early Saturday morning several weeks ago.
"I do not know these dead people."
"Are you hungry?" Bobby asked suddenly.
The Russian looked up at him and asked, "What?"
"Are you hungry? I'm a little hungry. Eames are you hungry?"
Alex nodded with a smile and answered, "As a matter of fact, I am. What about you, Krezemsky? You hungry, too?"
Bobby reached under the table and picked up a bag of taco chips, pulled it open and shook several on the tabletop. "Here, help yourself." Bobby took one and ate it; Eames did the same. "Go on, don't be shy. Have some, they're good." Bobby ate another. "You like taco chips, don't you?"
Krezemsky looked at the two detectives and shook his head with disbelief.
"No, go on. These are really good. Go on," Bobby urged.
The Russian looked at each of them again and then took a chip. He ate it and then wiped his fingers on his thigh. Bobby watched the man leave a smear of taco chip residue in exactly the same spot as on the sweatpants.
Bobby pulled out a chair and sat, pointing at each of the photos with the little finger of his right hand, "So, you don't know these guys?"
Krezemsky shook his head, took another chip and said, "No, I don't know these guys," and he popped the chip into his mouth.
"You don't know Turnbuckle, Brine or these three guys?" Eames said. Krezemsky shook his head.
"Are you thirsty? These chips are making me thirsty. My partner and I will go get us something to drink. Stay put, we'll be right back." Bobby and Alex stood, taking his folder and the photos, and left.
Inside the watch room, Deakins said, "I must be missing something. What are you trying to show with the chips?"
"He wiped his fingers in the same spot as where chip residue was found on the sweatpants," Bobby explained.
"Proving what? I wipe my fingers on my thigh, too. Bobby, you're going to have to do better than that. Carver would laugh at that attempt at evidence gathering."
Bobby felt bad about the Captain's disdain. "I'll get more, don't worry."
"It's early in the game, Captain. We're just warming up," Eames added. She had to agree with the Captain, the chip tactic was lame; but she wanted to support Bobby.
"Well, get on him. I want to close those five murders and the theft." Deakins crossed his arms and looked at the suspect on the other side of the glass.
Eames held three bottles of water and the pair returned to the interrogation room.
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Gleason answered her cell on the second ring; she didn't recognize the number. "Hello? . . . "That's wonderful! Two? . . . Oh, this is terrific! Thank you so much. . . . Yes, I'll be there afore noon. Thank you."
Gleason finished straightening the bed, pulled one of Bobby's sweatshirts over her turtleneck, tied up her shoes and headed to the rare bookstore to look at a possible gift for Bobby.
The bookstore found two different Rueben Lesky first editions and Gleason was ecstatic. She purchased both and decided to give one as a wedding gift to Bobby and keep the other for his birthday. She hoped they were not counterfeit!
Gleason walked three blocks to a stationer's and purchased lovely papers to wrap them, adhesive seals to close them and ribbon to tie them. Then she searched nearly every card in the shop and could not find what she wanted. So, she purchased two blank cards with magnificent watercolor art on the fronts and decided to write the verses herself.
She had never felt happier or healthier – she positively glowed.
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"Oh, Sweet Pea, Gramma is so tired. Let's read a book later, ok? Gramma needs to take a nap right now. Come sit on my l- . . ." and Mrs. Goren was asleep.
Christian stood by his Gramma's chair looking up at her. The pink and yellow light around her was thin and pale, fading. He knew fading was not a good thing, fading meant the end. Gramma was sick; she would be sick for a long time and would not get better. The child sat and watched her. Daddy will cry, he thought. Mommy will cry, too, for Gramma and for Daddy. The little boy sat and cried for all of them.
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"Mr. Krezemsky, my partner and I, we, we haven't been completely honest with you." Bobby said, twisting the lid back onto his bottle of water.
Krezemsky finished taking a swig from his bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "How so?" he asked.
"Well, you see. We know that you know Turnbuckle and Brine."
"You do? How you know this?"
"When you shot them, someone heard the shots and came to see what happened. He knelt down beside Brine and Brine told him that you were the shooter. The witness gave a nearly verbatim account of what Brine told him. Brine gave a, you know, sort of a deathbed confession. We have the witness's account on tape if you'd like to hear it. It's, uh, it's pretty damaging."
Krezemsky couldn't believe it – Brinosovich gave him up! The bastard. "What did he say?"
Eames replied with, "In a nutshell, he said you orchestrated the theft of the antiquities, using others to do the actual heist – probably those three other victims you shared taco chips with"
"Residue of capsaician, one of the chemicals in the spices used to flavor taco chips was found on the hands of each of the three victims. It was also found on the sweatpants used to wrap the items. Your sweatpants," Bobby added.
"Taco chips? Sweatpants? You are crazy. You have no evidence." Krezemsky winched inwardly, though – those goddamn chips. He and the three thieves had shared a bag the night they told him the relics were gathered. He had changed his clothes and stuffed the sweatpants and tee shirt he had removed into the duffle bag and gave them the bag to hide the items. Bobby caught the change in the man's demeanor and knew he had him.
Eames continued, "You told the three to stash the items in the apartment. Then you cleaned house by killing them, the actual thieves. Next, you told Turnbuckle about the loot who told Brine – an expert in this kind of merchandise, by the way. You knew Turnbuckle was a two-taker, a thief of thieves, and that he could not resist swiping the goods. You let him do it and then killed him and Brine, and ran off with the items."
Bobby picked up the story with, "So, you are an accessory to theft, a thief in your own right, and a murderer to boot – the felony trifecta." Bobby nodded in mock appreciation.
"This is bullshit," the Russian spit out.
"Uh, I don't think so. Your best bet is to confess and accept a plea bargain." Bobby let this reality set in for a moment. "So, what's it going to be? You 'fessing up?"
"Go to hell. I invoking. Get me a lawyer."
Eames exhaled and glanced up at Bobby who said to her, "You'd think he would want to know everything. The DNA evidence, the file on Brine, the file on him."
"You have no such thing. Lie, you lie. Police in America lie, I know this." Krezemsky stood and Bobby opened the door, motioning for two uniforms to cuff the Russian and take him back to holding. "What about my lawyer? I demand a lawyer!"
"Yeah, yeah, we're gonna make that call. You'll be more comfortable in holding. Take him out of here." The officers led the man out and Bobby wiped his hands over his face. "Well, that didn't go exactly like I had hoped."
"He's tough, but he'll break. It will just take some time."
Deakins entered and said, "I'll call Carver and see if we can't get a public defender fluent in Russian and English. It may take a while to find such a person." The three smiled at each other.
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"Mrs. Goren, Mrs. Goren, dear, wake up. There you are; how are you feeling?"
"Is Frank here?"
"No, dear, neither of your sons is here right now. I need to get a urine sample from you. Can you do that for me?"
"What do you want?"
"I need a urine sample from you."
"What?"
"You need to go into the bathroom and pee into this cup. Can you do that for me?"
"I'm not going to piss in a cup! What do you think I am, some heathen pagan? Where's Frank?"
The nurse sighed and went to get assistance.
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Monday Afternoon
"Fr. Picard, thank you for coming in. Let's go in here. Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, soda?"
"No, Bobby, no thank you. Detective Eames, it's a pleasure to see you again." Fr. Picard took a seat and set his case on the conference room table. The detectives sat as well.
"Uh, Father, what can you tell us about Brine?"
"Have you found the people responsible for his death?"
"Yes, we think so, Boris Krezemsky. Is that a familiar name?"
"No." The priest shook his head and continued, "I spoke with the Archbishop explaining the situation. Brinosovich's history and the current – uh, current events surrounding him convinced the Archbishop to grant permission to discuss his past with you."
"We appreciate this, Father."
"Brinosovich was a professor of theology at Yaroslavl Demidov State University in the Upper-Volga region of Russia. He excelled in identifying ancient liturgical items, working closely with museums and private collectors in addition to his teaching and writing. In 1994, the Russian authorities caught him selling antiquities on the black market. Russian prisons are particularly horrid places, so he fled, made his way to the US, changed his name and entered the seminary – a very good place to hide.
"He was a good priest until his old demons overtook him and he began dealing in antiquities again – pillaging collections of priceless liturgical items and selling them. As in most unpleasant events involving members of the clergy, the Catholic Church hushed it up, excommunicated him and he disappeared, until now."
"How could he steal and sell right under the church's nose? Weren't systems in place to prevent that?" Eames asked.
"Yes, my dear, there were, that's how he was caught."
"So, how did he and Krezemsky meet up?" asked Bobby.
"I'm sorry, but I don't know. Perhaps this other fellow, Krezemsky, can tell you that."
Bobby and Eames were quiet for a moment and then Bobby said, "Thank you Father, this fills in a number of holes. Thank you for coming down here."
"Good luck with this, Bobby. Let me know if I can be of any other help." The men shook hands and the priest nodded and smiled to Eames.
"Well, let's get Krezemsky back in here and finish this up," Bobby said to his partner.