Entombed by Linda Fairstein Page B
Authors: Linda Fairstein
Tags: Fiction, General, LEGAL, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Legal Stories, Mystery Fiction, New York (N.Y.), Women lawyers, Public Prosecutors, Serial rape investigation, Cooper; Alexandra (Fictitious character), Upper East Side (New York; N.Y.), Poe; Edgar Allan - Homes and haunts
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description of the woman.
But the tabloid's titillating version of sexual assault stories
required the flaxen-haired filly or the buxom blue-eyed beauty to fill
in the blanks occasioned by the media rule of not naming rape victims
in their stories.
"Still using silk
stockings, or has he aged into support hose since the last time we saw
him?" Diamond asked, to amuse the reporters around him.
I clicked off as they
were appealing for the public's help and offering reward money for tips
leading to the arrest of the attacker.
When I opened my door
at seven the next morning, the rapist's face stared up at me from the
front page of both tabloids, and above the fold on the Metro section of
the Times. I showered and
dressed for work, and drove downtown in my SUV to grab a parking space
as close to my building as possible, sparing myself a cold, slippery
walk.
I spent the morning
reviewing notes of phone messages that my secretary, Laura Wilkie, had
downloaded from the unit's hotline. For a bit of reward money, people
were willing to turn in ex-husbands, unfaithful lovers, and
ne'er-do-well nephews. All the leads would be turned over to Special
Victims for follow-up calls.
Then I studied the
file of Darra Goldswit's case, readying a checklist of questions for
her grand jury presentation.
I heard Chapman's
voice outside my office, in Laura's cubicle, just after 11 A.M. "Morning,
Moneypenny. Give us a kiss,
will you?"
I knew she'd be in a
good mood for the rest of the week. Laura was a perfect foil for Mike's
flirtatious humor.
He ambled through the
door, ran his fingers through the thick slice of black hair that rested
on his forehead. "Carmine Cappozelli, purveyor of the purest and most
potent rat poison this side of the Mississippi, sends his warmest
personal regards. Told me he manufactured his first batch of rodent
botulism in 1978."
"We knew that from the
label you read."
"Yeah, but none of it
was shipped until 1979. So that's the revised earliest date our
skeleton went into the closet. That's why you need a good detective,
instead of going on the stupid assumptions you lawyers make. Saves you
a year of unnecessary digging."
"What other useful
calls have you made?"
"Cold Case Squad.
Scotty Taren caught the squeal. He's meeting me here later so we can
run up to the morgue. See how far Dorfman gets today."
"Where does he even
start on something like this that happened a quarter of a century ago?"
"My old man was
walking a beat back then. Wouldn't it be a kick to think it was a case
he could have solved? You just got to put yourself there in that time
and place, think of the world the victim was living in."
"Easy to say."
"Think culture, Coop. Kramer vs. Kramer won the Oscar, Mother
Teresa got the Nobel Peace Prize, Margaret Thatcher became prime
minister of England, the Shah was booted out of Iran, Sophie's Choice was the bestselling
book in America, Saturday Night Fever was the album of the year,
Pittsburgh
won the World Series, Martina beat Chrissie at Wimbledon, Spectacular
Bid won the Kentucky Derby, and both John Wayne and Nelson Rockefeller
died-but only one of them went in the saddle and it wasn't the guy who
was supposed to. Are you there yet?"
"Close."
"There were eight
hundred fifty-four homicides in the city, and two hundred sixty-three
missing persons. Our babe fits somewhere in the middle of those
numbers. I'm handing this to Scotty on a silver platter. I expect an ID
by Monday. Where's Mercer?"
"He'll be here at one."
"I've got trial prep
on a shooting from last summer with your psycho-colleague, Pedro de
Jesus. If we start now, he may get himself up to speed by the spring
thaw. I'll swing by later on."
He turned and bumped
into Mickey Diamond, who was on the prowl to see what I knew about the
rape pattern.
"I owe you a few
rounds, Chapman. Lunch on me at Forlini's?"
"Not today, buddy,"
Mike said, trying to brush past the reporter.
"Did Chapman tell you
he bet me fifty large that you'd be playing
But the tabloid's titillating version of sexual assault stories
required the flaxen-haired filly or the buxom blue-eyed beauty to fill
in the blanks occasioned by the media rule of not naming rape victims
in their stories.
"Still using silk
stockings, or has he aged into support hose since the last time we saw
him?" Diamond asked, to amuse the reporters around him.
I clicked off as they
were appealing for the public's help and offering reward money for tips
leading to the arrest of the attacker.
When I opened my door
at seven the next morning, the rapist's face stared up at me from the
front page of both tabloids, and above the fold on the Metro section of
the Times. I showered and
dressed for work, and drove downtown in my SUV to grab a parking space
as close to my building as possible, sparing myself a cold, slippery
walk.
I spent the morning
reviewing notes of phone messages that my secretary, Laura Wilkie, had
downloaded from the unit's hotline. For a bit of reward money, people
were willing to turn in ex-husbands, unfaithful lovers, and
ne'er-do-well nephews. All the leads would be turned over to Special
Victims for follow-up calls.
Then I studied the
file of Darra Goldswit's case, readying a checklist of questions for
her grand jury presentation.
I heard Chapman's
voice outside my office, in Laura's cubicle, just after 11 A.M. "Morning,
Moneypenny. Give us a kiss,
will you?"
I knew she'd be in a
good mood for the rest of the week. Laura was a perfect foil for Mike's
flirtatious humor.
He ambled through the
door, ran his fingers through the thick slice of black hair that rested
on his forehead. "Carmine Cappozelli, purveyor of the purest and most
potent rat poison this side of the Mississippi, sends his warmest
personal regards. Told me he manufactured his first batch of rodent
botulism in 1978."
"We knew that from the
label you read."
"Yeah, but none of it
was shipped until 1979. So that's the revised earliest date our
skeleton went into the closet. That's why you need a good detective,
instead of going on the stupid assumptions you lawyers make. Saves you
a year of unnecessary digging."
"What other useful
calls have you made?"
"Cold Case Squad.
Scotty Taren caught the squeal. He's meeting me here later so we can
run up to the morgue. See how far Dorfman gets today."
"Where does he even
start on something like this that happened a quarter of a century ago?"
"My old man was
walking a beat back then. Wouldn't it be a kick to think it was a case
he could have solved? You just got to put yourself there in that time
and place, think of the world the victim was living in."
"Easy to say."
"Think culture, Coop. Kramer vs. Kramer won the Oscar, Mother
Teresa got the Nobel Peace Prize, Margaret Thatcher became prime
minister of England, the Shah was booted out of Iran, Sophie's Choice was the bestselling
book in America, Saturday Night Fever was the album of the year,
Pittsburgh
won the World Series, Martina beat Chrissie at Wimbledon, Spectacular
Bid won the Kentucky Derby, and both John Wayne and Nelson Rockefeller
died-but only one of them went in the saddle and it wasn't the guy who
was supposed to. Are you there yet?"
"Close."
"There were eight
hundred fifty-four homicides in the city, and two hundred sixty-three
missing persons. Our babe fits somewhere in the middle of those
numbers. I'm handing this to Scotty on a silver platter. I expect an ID
by Monday. Where's Mercer?"
"He'll be here at one."
"I've got trial prep
on a shooting from last summer with your psycho-colleague, Pedro de
Jesus. If we start now, he may get himself up to speed by the spring
thaw. I'll swing by later on."
He turned and bumped
into Mickey Diamond, who was on the prowl to see what I knew about the
rape pattern.
"I owe you a few
rounds, Chapman. Lunch on me at Forlini's?"
"Not today, buddy,"
Mike said, trying to brush past the reporter.
"Did Chapman tell you
he bet me fifty large that you'd be playing
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