One Stormy Night

Zoe struggled to keep her head above water; the weather was brutal, and lightning flashed with a fury all around her. The small dinghy was a ball of flames. The water was cold. The dock was not too far; she could make it. The lights on the posts blinked on and off. Just a little further. Her wet coat weighed her down and made it hard to swim. She made it to the dock and grabbed a rope hanging there. She wrapped it around her wrists and pulled herself to the drop ladder. Rain pelted her face; she could barely see. It took all the strength she had left to pull herself up the ladder. Exhausted, she rolled onto the dock. She let out a furious, frustrated yell into the night. How did she let things get this bad?

The line at Starbucks was busy as usual, and Zoe had already received a text from Brian at the station. <Where are you?> “Damn, I need coffee now,” she mumbled, shuffling her briefcase between her arms to free one hand to pay. They were due in court in less than an hour. “One Grande latte, extra sweet, please.” She brushed her auburn bangs from her electric blue eyes. The handsome Italian barista knew her order and automatically wrote “Zoe” and drew a smiley face on the cup, then smiled broadly at her. She was used to the flirting; men found her attractive, athletic, and feminine, a 5’6” ball of spitfire and grace. She could be both. Her burnt-orange wool coat accentuated her striking looks and hair. With a latte in hand, she ran across the street to the station to meet Brian.

They were headed to a preliminary hearing for Frank Castellanos, a minor mob goon they had arrested earlier in the week. He had cracked a couple of knees on the South Side over a debt. Unfortunately for him, there was a witness, a street-smart 17-year-old on a skateboard named Ronald Lange. The man with the cracked knees was his best friend’s dad, John Brown, a lowly regular guy who liked to play the ponies too much. Zoe was not expecting much drama; it was a pretty tight case. Frank Castellanos was gunned down as he ascended the court steps. Chaos erupted as shots rang out from the moving vehicle. Brian shoved Zoe down to avoid the bullets. It was a drive-by shooting, and they got away.

Frank Castellanos was wearing a bulletproof vest and sustained minor injuries to his right ear and arm. He was smart enough to play dead. Zoe and Brian played along, and he was taken to the hospital as DOA and placed in a private room under police protection.

“What the hell, Frank?” Zoe was fuming.

“Is there something we need to know?” she said.

“There is big trouble; you need to help me.” Frank Castellanos looked genuinely scared.

“You need to tell us something,” Brian said.

“You’re on your own if you don’t start talking,” added Zoe.

“I help you; you help me. I have valuable information, but I must have immunity and protection.”

“That is up to the District Attorney. Give me something to present to her.” Zoe was trying to make sense of it.

“I have names; I have a book. That is all I am going to say until I have a deal,” Frank said slowly and deliberately.

District Attorney Maria Chaves wanted more information before making him an offer. She tasked Zoe and Brian with leading the investigation. “We keep him under wraps for now, but I need to know more,” she said. “Hold off on any statements to the press.”

Zoe got home late that night and had missed supper. She was grateful that her mom, Grace, lived next door and could be counted on for leftovers. Grace has been Zoe’s adoptive mother since Zoe was ten. She was witty, charming, and an armchair sleuth. She came over with warmed-up leftover lasagna and a bottle of Chardonnay.

“I saw the news. Are you okay, Zoe?”

“I was not expecting that today; it was a neat little package; now it is all gone to hell.” Frustrated, she opened the bottle of wine and poured each of them a glass.

“Is he dead?”

“Can’t tell anyone; we have to keep this under wraps.”

“My lips are sealed.” She pretended to lock them.

They found John Brown’s body by the docks; he was wrapped around a piling, tied with marine rope. His skull was smashed in on the left side with an indentation the size of a baseball.

Zoe arrived at the docks with two cups of coffee, and Brian was already there with Sherry Stein, the Medical Examiner, and the Crime Scene Investigators.

Zoe: “What do we have?”

“John Brown, it looks ugly,” Brian said.

“What is going on here? We need to regroup,” Zoe said.

Sherry Stein reported that he appeared to have been dead for about 12 hours, with rigor mortis set in. She would know more after the autopsy.

At the station, Brian set up a timeline on the board. Frank had said that Rocco and the boys were after him and were tied to gambling and the docks. Zoe and Brian began to flesh out the players. Why kill John Brown?

Frank Castellanos was moved from the hospital to a safe house, and the DA struck a deal. Frank swore he had names and a book detailing the dock operations, but he would not say how he obtained them. Frank had no family, but he had a girlfriend, Tina, whom he wanted to protect and bring to the house. Tina and her little dog, Matty, were brought to the house under duress—all gold bangles and fur. You could tell she was a kept woman, spoiled. She was unhappy that her life was being disrupted. She slapped Frank as soon as she arrived. “What are you thinking?” she said. “I don’t want to live like this!”

“Tina, baby, it’s not safe; we can start a new life.” Frank, the big, tough guy, was begging.

Grace was enjoying her afternoon cocktail when Zoe stopped by, looking for food again.

“You are a bottomless pit, young lady. How do you stay so thin?”

“Mom, really, you have to ask?”

Grace laughed and got a smile from Zoe.

“Why kill John Brown? He is a nobody,” said Zoe.

Grace said, “Is he really?” “Maybe the question is, Who is John Brown?”

Zoe had a punching bag to let off steam. She pinned a picture of Frank Castellanos to it and began pounding it with fury. Her cat Taz watched her with quizzical yellow eyes.

Brian had a family, a wife, and three kids, and he lived in the nice part of Brooklyn in a brownstone with a white picket fence. Diana kept a beautiful home and was a stay-at-home mom. Brian was one of the good guys, loyal and true. His youngest was two, a little boy named Andy. He had twin 8-year-old girls, Molly and Kate. He kept his personal life and work separate. Today, however, he was a bit moody, and Diana wanted to know why.

“This case I’m working on is confounding me. I might have to pull an all-nighter to go through it. Don’t wait up for me, please.”

Who is John Brown? Zoe had written it across the top of the board. By the time Brian arrived at the station, a box of Krispy Kreme donuts and a pot of aromatic coffee were ready. They FaceTimed with Frank Castellanos and asked him that question. After hemming and hawing, he admitted he got the book from John Brown. John Brown had a talent for sleight of hand and stole the book right off the boss’s desk. Frank took the book from John Brown after he had cracked his knees. Frank’s picture on the punching bag seemed appropriate to Zoe; she was seething again.

The question now was Who killed John Brown?

Sherry Stein’s report said that John Brown died of blunt-force trauma. A blow to the left side of his head from the front suggested that the assailant was left-handed. A small sledgehammer was used.

“I think we need to pay a visit to the docks,” said Zoe.

There was the steady beeping of forklifts backing up and banging on the rims of metal drums, a cacophony of sounds, and business going on. The odor of the ocean and motor oil mingled with the smell of metal smelting. The mob ran the docks, and all eyes were on Zoe and Brian as they approached the main office.

“You looking for something, officers?” Sal said. He was the dock supervisor.

Brian showed him a picture of John Brown and asked whether he knew him or had seen him around the docks. Sal looked at the picture briefly and said no, but he did not sound very convincing. Zoe watched as one of the workers banged on the rim of the metal barrel to seal the top. She walked over to the man and asked to look at the tool he was using. It was a mini sledgehammer whose hammer head was just about the size of the indentation on John Brown’s head. The wooden handle had rust-colored flecks between the head and the handle. She put on a pair of rubber gloves, took the sledgehammer from the worker, and placed it in an evidence bag.

“Is this your personal tool?” she asked.

“No, it belongs to Luigi. He’s not here today. We share the tools.”

“Does anyone else use these?” Zoe asked.

“No, we keep it in our lockbox; we each have a key.”

Zoe signaled to Brian to come over and showed him the sledgehammer.

We are going to need you and Luigi to come to the Station.

Luigi got word that they wanted him at the station and went MIA. The Boss put out the word to find him. He was looking for him now. He wasn’t so sure he had gotten the job done with Frank; they had not heard a word either way. John Brown should have disappeared, not been left at the docks. The police were nipping at their doorstep. He did not like that.

They ran the prints on the sledgehammer and tested it for DNA. Yes, it was the weapon. It contained blood traces that matched John Brown. The prints matched the dock worker, and to Zoe’s surprise, Luigi was the barista at Starbucks. She was shocked he had been right under her nose all this time. He worked part-time on the docks, and his father was The Boss.

Tina grew so tired of sitting around in that safe house that she took little Matty and escaped. Frank was panicking now because if she got caught, she could tell them where he was. Zoe heard what was going on at the safe house and went there to see Frank Castellanos. Even the mention of his name made her angry.

Luigi caught up with Tina. It did not take long for her to spill the beans.

By the time Zoe reached the safe house, Luigi had already been there, taken out the officer on duty, and kidnapped Frank. She called it in, and Brian was on his way.

“There are two of them,” Officer Bailey said, still groggy.

It was bitterly cold outside, and they could see their breath. Brian caught up with Zoe at the safe house.

“I bet they are headed for the Docks; let’s get a move on,” Zoe said.

Brian called for backup, and they headed for the docks.

It started to rain, adding misery to the cold. By the time they reached the docks, it was pouring steadily. It was also getting dark. The docks were locked up and empty, not even a security guard in sight.

“Not a good sign,” said Brian

There were black-and-whites everywhere, with blue lights flashing off the buildings. Helicopters circled overhead. The rain fell like relentless icicle daggers.

“There are two of them,” Officer Bailey said. Zoe shared the information with Brian, reentering their vehicle to get out of the rain.

“Could they be on the water?” Zoe looked out toward the water. It was almost impossible to make out anything.

“Look over there. There’s movement by the piling.” The boat roared to life and pulled away from the docks. “How did we miss that?” asked Zoe. “Call it in.” She jumped out of the car and headed to the dock’s edge, where she spotted a dinghy with a small motor right by the dock ladder. She sprang into action, climbed down the ladder, and got into the boat. The engine roared to life, and she was off in pursuit. Brian shook his head in disbelief. She’s got to be crazy, not waiting for backup.

The engine sputtered and began to smoke. Soon it caught fire and exploded, knocking Zoe into the water. The weight of the wet woolen coat pulled her down, making it hard to swim. She sloshed and splashed, trying to get her bearings. Brian was waving at her from the dock. More black-and-whites arrived, and she watched them pull up. She was close enough to the dock now; she could make it. Brian tossed down a rope as she climbed out of the water with all the strength she had left. She let out a primal yell of frustration.

Grace looked at her, wrapped up like a pupa in her blanket. “Rough night?”

“You can say that; they got away. Frank is as good as dead now,” Zoe said. For once, she felt compassion for Frank.

Grace joined her for a shot of Bourbon. “Maybe not. They still have to get the book back. That is his leverage.”

“Mother, you are indeed wise.”

The next day, the docks were a crime scene, taped off, and no one was allowed to enter the building. Frank was found beaten to a pulp and left for dead again.

“You must have a guardian angel, Frank,” Zoe said, amazed. Frank laughed through his broken teeth.

“They are twins, you know,” Frank said.

“Who?”

“Luigi and Guido are twins and the Boss’s sons. They still can’t get it right. The Boss is going to flip when he hears I’m still alive.”

“Where is that book, Frank? We can’t afford to take chances anymore.”

“Tina has it, but she doesn’t know it. I put it in one of her wig boxes in the closet.”

Frank began coughing and spitting up blood. The paramedics took him.

With a warrant in hand, they searched Frank’s house and found the wig box and the book. The Boss and his gang were rounded up at the docks, but only one of the twins was caught. Who killed John Brown? Luigi, or was it Guido?

Luigi sat in the interrogation room, bombarded with questions for hours. He swore it wasn’t him or his brother. Zoe tossed him a crumpled piece of paper, and he caught it with his left hand.

“Got you,” she said.

Luigi gave her a wide smile and a wink.

“Give the lady a Grande Latte extra sweet.”