"The Sons of Mount Carmel" Chapter 3 (An NYPD Murder Mystery Novel)

CHAPTER 3

After they brought Father Gribbons to the M.E.’s office to identify Father Manny’s body, by mid-afternoon Toni and Geddes showed up at the midtown Manhattan office building housing the law offices of Brown, Whitehead, and Cohen. They found out from the managing partner of the firm that Samantha Cohen would not be in due to a family emergency. Toni had already done a quick DMV check for Samantha Cohen’s home address on her iPhone. They shot over to her residence on Sutton Place unannounced.

The rotund Puerto Rican concierge called up to the Cohen apartment before they were pointed to the elevators. Toni took in the lobby. It reminded her a little bit of the lobby of the Surrogates Court in lower Manhattan: all marble and frescoes.
"Do you know who was working the desk here last night for the four-to-twelve and twelve-to-eight shift?" Toni said before they stepped away.
“Sure, sure, detective,” the concierge said with a big smile for the pretty Latina detective. “I work the day shift with Willy, and we relieved by Hector and Mike. We switch between who is doorman and concierge. They was relieved by Hernan at midnight. Only one concierge on duty overnight. We relieve him this morning at eight.”
“They on duty tonight?” Toni said.
“Yeah, they are, unless one goes sick or something.”
“You have CCTV here?” Toni said looking up at the cameras scattered in different corners of the concierge and lobby area.
“Of course,” the concierge said, and looked back to the backroom of the concierge desk. “Look.” Toni could see one huge flat screen T.V. with multiples boxes of CCTV indoor and outdoor views.
Toni nodded and stepped away with Geddes.
“Thanks, Amigo,” Geddes said.

Samantha Cohen opened her front door.
“You said you’re from the Bronx Homicide Squad?” Samantha Cohen said after she invited them in. She had no make-up and her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, holding a tissue in each hand. She was wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe, collar-up. “You’re here because of Manny?”
"Yes, Mrs. Cohen," Toni said and handed her an NYPD business card. "We're investigating the murder of Father Gonzalez. I'm Detective Santiago, this is Detective Geddes."
Toni was struck at how beautiful Samantha Cohen was, and how obviously Latin was her DNA. She had short, French-cut, jet-black hair with deep brown eyes. When Geddes had pulled into the parking space, Toni’ took another look at the DMV check information she’d pulled-up on her iPhone. She was forty-three years old but looked to be in her mid-thirties. She kept herself fit. Toni wondered what facial cream she used: Lancôme Absolute L'Extrait, Toni figured. Toni had to settle for a L’Oreal facial cream, the bastard-child of L’Oreal products. And she was more than a few inches taller than Toni, which was another shot in the gut.
They followed Cohen into the living room. “Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee, tea—
“No, thank you,” Toni and Geddes replied together.
Toni took a look at the vista of the East River before sitting down. A vast window spanned almost the whole length of the apartment’s eastern view. Two door-like windows, which reached up to the ceiling, were swung open and an East River gust made the vertical blinds clap. It pays to be on the twenty-first floor, Toni thought. It gave her a welcomed shiver. There had not been a hint of breeze down on street level when they’d arrived.
“We were told you knew Father Gonzalez well, Mrs. Cohen?” Toni said.
“Yes, I knew him very well. We were very close friends.”
“Father Gribbons told us you both grew up in the Mount Carmel area,” Toni said. “How did you meet?”
“Yes, that’s right, we grew up in the same neighborhood. But it was a long time ago, detective. I can’t be sure. I probably met him through somebody else.” Cohen paused before she continued. “You think knowing how I met Father Gonzalez would help you find his killer?”
Interesting, Toni thought. Her childhood friend has been murdered and she can’t resist playing lawyer. Of all people, a lawyer knows—or should know—how important relationship details are in a murder investigation. She wondered if Cohen would continue to play lawyer.
Geddes cleared his throat. “Can you tell us when you last saw him, Mrs. Cohen?” Geddes said.
“I was supposed to see him last evening. We were going to have dinner at the rectory together, but he called me late yesterday afternoon. It was actually almost six. He said something had come up and had to cancel. I asked him if everything was all right, and he said everything was fine.” Cohen grabbed a tissue from the box on the glass coffee table. There was a pile of crumpled, used, tissues up against it. She didn’t seem to care.
Geddes said, "So, he didn't tell you why he canceled?"
“No, not at all. He didn’t sound great, but I wasn’t surprised by that since he was sick.”
“Sick?” Toni said.
“Yes, he’d been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer about two months ago and it was progressing very quickly.” Tears eased from her eyes, but her face remained strong. As if there was no connection between her face and the tears running from it. She swiped another tissue.
“Why had you planned to see him last night?” Toni said. “Was it just to see how he was doing?”
“Well, actually no. He’d called me earlier in the week and invited me to come over last night. He said he had something to discuss. I asked him what it was about and he said it was nothing urgent and could wait until I came.”
“Okay,” Toni said. “So, when had you seen him last?”
“I saw him about three weeks before right here. He came for dinner. That’s when he told me about his cancer.”
Toni listened.
Geddes said, “Mrs. Cohen, when did you find out he’d been killed?”
“This morning on New York 1,” Cohen said. “Have you any idea who did this yet?”
Toni and Geddes didn’t reply right away. Toni actually appreciated how effectively Cohen changed the subject. Toni thought she could learn a few things from this lady lawyer.
Geddes said, “No, Mrs. Cohen. That’s why we’re here speaking with you. Can you think of any reason someone would want to hurt him?”
Cohen shook her head.
"Do you live here alone, Mrs. Cohen?" Toni said as she scanned the abundant apartment; one disfigured female nude by Picasso and one Freda Kahlo self-portrait occupied one wall. Could they be the real thing? Nah. If it wasn’t for the introductory art history course Toni had been required to take last semester as she worked on her B.A. in Criminal Justice part-time, she wouldn’t have known a Kahlo painting from a Vermeer.
“No, I live here with my daughter. She’s sixteen. Her father and I are divorced.”
“Is she your only child?” Toni said.
“Yes,” Cohen paused and held Toni’s eyes, “She’s my only child.”
What the heck was that all about, Toni wondered. If she only had a daughter, she only had a daughter. What’s with the hard look?
“What’s your maiden name, Mrs. Cohen?” Toni said, half expecting her to reply, “How would knowing my maiden name help you find Father Manny’s killer?”
But she didn’t. She stood up, tightened the belt to her robe and looked out her opened living room window, the same vast window overlooking the East River, her back to Toni and Geddes and said, “Morales.”
Toni deftly swiped one of Cohen’s used tissues from the coffee table and put it in her pocket.
“If you don’t mind my asking, where were you from 6 p.m. yesterday evening until 6 am this morning?” Toni said.
Cohen turned to face them, holding herself tight with her arms. “I was here at home.”
“With your daughter?” Toni said.
“No, she’d spent Sunday night at her father’s.”
Toni and Geddes gave her a moment to continue.
“She’s volunteering this summer at the ASPCA on 92nd Street, and her father lives on 89th and East End. She can sleep a little later and walk to work.”
“I see,” Toni said. “I guess she takes the bus to work when she stays here.”
“Yes, right, the York Avenue bus.”
“Mrs. Cohen, I need to ask you,” Toni said, “Can anybody confirm you were here at home last night? Did you have any company or have any conversations on your home phone that we can verify?”
“Am I a suspect?” Cohen said.
Toni paused before answering and wondered what was really up with this broad. There she was playing lawyer again.
“No, Mrs. Cohen, you’re not. These are routine questions that we’ll be asking anyone close to Father Gonzalez.”
Cohen paused before answering too. “Well, I’m sorry. I was alone and didn’t use the phone,” Cohen stepped over to them on the sofa. “Do you have any other questions?”
Toni and Geddes took a moment before they stood up.
“No. We appreciate your time.” Toni said, and they started to walk to the apartment door. Cohen followed.
Toni turned to her before leaving with Geddes and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Cohen said.
Just before she closed the door behind them, Toni said, “Mrs. Cohen, just one last question. By any chance do you know Lieutenant Condon?”
Cohen held the door open but didn’t respond.
Toni continued. “I was just wondering. Father Manny and Lieutenant Condon knew each other as kids, and you knew Father Manny. You know he’s the commanding officer of the Bronx Homicide Squad. He’s our boss.”
“Yes, I knew that,” Cohen replied.
“You did, well, I just thought you maybe knew Lieutenant Condon too when you and Father Manny were in high school.”
After a long pause, Cohen said, "I haven't seen or spoken with Ryan Condon in over twenty years,"
“I see,” Toni said.
“Is that all, detective?”
"Yes, Ma'am.