Jake (A Murder in Manhattan)

By Alan Guy

When a murder victim is found on the number 2 subway train with an ice pick stuck in her heart, the Runyonesque, slightly irreverent, NYPD Detective Stanislaus Jakubowski (JAKE), is called in to his Manhattan’s 10th precinct to investigate.

Jake knows this victim from his previous investigation into the murder of Pete Cisneros, his retired partner. The victim is Dr. Jane McMillan, a cardiopulmonary surgeon at King’s County Hospital, but more than that, she was the lover of Pete’s daughter, Margarita. The victim’s live-in lover, also a nurse at the hospital, is, of course, among the prime suspects.

The complicated clues Jake encounters lead him to many other suspects with intriguing stories of their own, from doctors, to a drug pushing teenager, a cowboy, and a stable hand. Amongst the numerous captivating characters are Jake’s pregnant, girlfriend, a Brooklyn Sergeant, his new partner, a DNA expert, and his best friend.

Through his eyes, ears, thoughts and voice, Jake suspects everyone as he struggles to keep the upper hand and unravel this colorful tapestry to a surprise ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Guy
• Release date: May 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310566134

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The body slumped over on the subway car when someone tried to arouse what was thought to be a sleeping passenger. Her coat fell open revealing an ice pick in her chest. She was dead. Very dead.

My official police-issued iPhone rang out its "Brother Where Art Thou" ring tone and vibrated on the night stand. A struggle to free my leg, caught in the tangle of bedsheets while rolling over, frustrated me and caused me to lose patience. Who the hell is this and what the bleep do you want?

It’s your bleeping Captain and I have an assignment for you, you stubborn hard headed Polack.

Lucky me. Sorry, Captain. It’s my friggin day off and I wasn’t expecting to be interrupted while pursuing my own personal interests. I assume this is something that can’t wait?

Yes it probably can wait, but I thought you should know anyway.

What is it?

When I assigned you to Brooklyn’s 77th Precinct to lead the investigation into Pete’s death…

Murder, Captain, it was a brutal murder. Please don’t try to make it any less than it was. My investigation was agonizing enough finding his killer and worse having to arrest the person who murderered him. Not enough grieving time has passed these last few months, but I have found myself losing my anger a little more now.

OK, sorry, Jake, you’re right. Well, do you remember during that investigation ever having met a Dr. Jane McMillan?

Sure, she’s the lover of Pete’s older daughter, Margarita. A real hot piece of ass, as I remember. So, ‘what’s up Doc?’. Pardon the pun.

She was found murdered.

No shit! How? Where, when, and most of all, why, buzzed through my brain like a circular saw through a sheet of plywood; bits of memory splintering off like the sawdust.

That’s why I’m calling you. She was found stabbed to death sitting on the #2 subway line from Brooklyn to Manhattan during this morning’s rush hour. It’s presumed she was heading home from her night shift at King’s County Hospital to her apartment in Manhattan. Right now, that’s all I know. You want in on this or not?

Whose case is it now?

Well, she was discovered in Manhattan, so I’ve assigned your desk-sharing partner, Janette Kim, to begin looking into it temporarily till we can resolve jurisdiction; ours, where she was found, or Brooklyn’s, where she might have got it, depending where the train was at the moment of …oh for Christ’s sake, Jake, you in or out?

I’m in.

CHAPTER TWO

Oscar DiVito kinda looks like Danny DiVito; at least to me. I think he’s taller, at most tries to comb his hair, what little of it there is, and he totally denies any kinship. I’ve been working with him as my squad captain for all of twenty years. As one of the youngest ever detectives, he paired me up, under his command, with the older, and experienced, Peter Cisneros for seventeen of those years, until Pete put in his papers for retirement about three years ago; after which he was brutally murdered.

I chose Brother Where Art Thou because I prefer to work independently since Pete retired, and it made me feel like I’m more difficult to be reached, even though I’m not. Pete was a great mentor to me and sometimes father figure. I loved him and, couldn’t, no wouldn’t, find another partner to equal him. Not even close.

Sorry I interrupted your ‘personal interests’.

Oh, sure you are. My sarcasm flowed through the digital ether.

"Yeah, I’m quite familiar with your sexual interests, so, say ‘Hi’ to Julie for me.

Ow!

What was that?

I got punched for that earlier remark about Dr. McMillan’s hotness. She knows I’ve stopped my wandering lustful life since it was demolished by her magnificent charms. I guess she thought I needed a reminder.

She’s probably right.

What he almost interrupted was not makeup sex. It was the body-sweating, energy-demanding, Oh, God, I’m cumming kind of sex. My heart was pounding like I’d just run the 1500 meter in record time. His call had come as we lay there, holding hands, looking up at the ceiling, now barely illuminated in stripes from the early morning sun dodging the slatted window blinds. Julie, I can’t believe you’re three months pregnant.

Julie McNulty Goldberg was, and still is, the sexy media consultant in the NYPD detective’s squad room of Manhattan’s 10th Precinct where I first consulted with her. My name is Stanislaus Jakubowski, but everyone calls me Jake, mostly because they’re ignorant or too God damned stupid to pronounce Jakubowski. I’ve been a detective there for twenty years.

I was grateful his call came after I rolled off her magnificent body, or maybe it was her rolling off mine, I can’t remember which, the euphoria of exhausting minutes of hard pumping orgasms on both our parts wiped me out. The aroma of great sex surrounded us.

I was grateful because five minutes earlier it would have been fucktusinterruptus and I would have been pissed off to no end.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rubbed my face with both hands, feeling stubble, wondering, Why things happen the way they do?

Another day off shot to hell. Last one was the middle of the freaking night requesting my presence in Brooklyn to identify the body of a murder victim thought to be my former partner. It was. I still reel from the memory of seeing it.

I conveyed to Julie the brief substance of this, our mutual squad leader’s call, disturbing our personal interests. I rolled back over her body, with both stiff arms holding me up over her to give her a quick kiss. Sorry, Babe, I gotta go in. Duty, or at least our Captain, calls.

Of course you do. Who would understand better than a cop’s wife? But then I’m not a cop’s wife…yet, or am I assuming too much too soon?

Backing down on to an elbow rest, I said, Hey, that was a low blow. My throat constricted momentarily. "You know we’ve discussed it. We’ll get married. I want to. We just haven’t had a chance to work it all out yet. It’s been such a freakin’ whirlwind since solvin’ Pete’s killin’ less than three months ago, then discoverin’ we’re miraculously gonna be parents and everything that goes along with it. Soon, I promise. Your folks, and my sister Cassie’s family, want in on the celebrating. Meanwhile I gotta get dressed and get down to the station."

I shuffled to the bathroom to shit, shower and shave. My experience taught me it’s gonna be a long day.

CHAPTER THREE

Julie, still in her neglige`, leaned against the door jam watching me shave, coffee cups in hand for both of us. Want me to come? Do you think you might need your own personal media consultant? Maybe I can help.

No, thanks, Jewels, dear. I leaned back from the edge of the sink and gave her a peck.

You just came enough for both of us.

"That’s not funny," she said, wiping shaving cream from her cheek.

My apologies. Couldn’t help myself. I’ll always be the dirty old man you first met. It’s your day off too, Babe. Don’t want you overdoin’ it, I said, patting her still slim tummy. Stay here and I’ll call you when I get more info.

In her Marilyn Monroe-like sexy, sing-song, vocal sarcasm, she breathlessly whispered, Oh, my great big overprotective detective. Mmm, you smell good, as she glided her hands down the sides of my freshly smoothed face, adding, I’m only pregnant, sweetheart, not incapacitated. And by the way, I still do love it when you talk dirty to me. You’re Jake and you always will be. I have no plans to change you, she said, as her index finger tapped my nose.

But I also love that you’re trying to keep your promise of watching your foul language. I picked up on that ‘bleeping’ word choice you used.

Not tryin’ to change me, huh? OK, a promise is a promise…until it’s broken, Babe, but it’s tough to break from a life on the streets of New York, especially havin’ been born and raised in the Bronx.

OK. You go do what you do best.

But Jewels, I just did what I do best. I’ve sworn off sex with everyone else but you.

I meant detecting, Detective, now go! she ordered, pushing me off by my tush with both hands. I’ll have dinner waiting for you and a very special dessert.

I hope it involves whipped cream.

Maybe. Depends if you misbehave to my liking.

"Don’t you mean submit to your licking?"

That too.

Kissed Jewels good-bye, grabbed my Fedora, and left her place at East Sixth between First and Avenue A.

CHAPTER FOUR

I call her Jewels, because her nipples get hard as precious stones when she’s turned on, which I pleasantly discovered, isn’t difficult to do.

It started with us a few months ago, almost suddenly, after working in the same squad room for quite a while, not even paying much attention to each other. Well, admittedly, I was profoundly aware of her big tits and nice ass, but didn’t act on it, because I assumed she was too unapproachable. I thought, This beauty couldn’t possibly be interested in a plain forty-three year old guy like me? So, I just kept playing the field. Such for the captain’s remark about my sexual proclivities. I’m glad as hell I was wrong about Julie.

Our relationship began when I had invited her to a lunch meeting. At the opening of her cubicle, in the far end of the squad room, I had held back, momentarily, for fear of rejection. Images of what could be, or maybe what wouldn’t be, flashed through my mind. But, I took a breath and spoke up. Julie, I’m sorry to barge in like this, but I need to ask you for a favor.

Not an imposition, Detective Jakubowski. That’s what I’m here for. It’s my job.

It’s Jake. Call me Jake… please.

OK, Jake, how can I help you?

Well, it’s off the record, so I’d like it out of earshot from the squad room. I want to use you’re expertise to ‘unofficially’ research an individual’s financial records. Mind if we get out of here. The walls have ears.

What walls? We work in an open floor plan with only a few cubicle dividers.

Exactly. May I take you to lunch for this?

Sure. Any time a nice guy asks a girl to lunch, she should accept.

I began to have more positive thoughts. At least she thinks I’m ‘nice’. Could be worse. Could be a good thing. I took her to a neighborhood tavern not far from the station house, Jake’s Saloon, of which I happen to own a significantly invisible part. Food may be the way to a man’s heart but I’d never have thought, then, that food could be the way to a woman’s vagina.

I liked that she was in her mid-thirties, built, also, like Marilyn Monroe’s mannequin, blonde, five-four, and could be a great fit to my six-one horny frame. We both had been married briefly before, were cheated on, and each divorced for about ten damaged workaholic years now.

No kids for either of us then, but now our now pregnancy is miraculous, because Julie’s doctors had told her, years ago, she couldn’t have children. Something to do with her Fallopian tubes. We’re happy in love.

After these many years being single, both of us, especially me, were ready to settle down, much to the delight of many people, including my Captain, my sister and only remaining sibling, Kasienka. I was thrilled when she named her third child, Alex, in honor of our deceased younger brother, Alexanderov, who died fighting the fires of the World Trade Center. Finally, Sylvester Prince, my best army buddy, friend, and thee majority partner in that neighborhood tavern, we own together, has been dogging me to settle down for years. He used to nag me, You drink too much and you’re solitary to boot. Find someone who can put up with your shit.

Now I have.

We had been love making in Julie’s fine condo, because my place is a way-to-shabby bachelor’s rent controlled apartment on Greene Street in The Village. It still has my name on the lease. My cat, which I appropriately named Kat, lives there with all my belongings, and my, across the hall, vicariously adopted Jewish-mother-type, Lillian Orsinsky, who keeps track of me in her inimitable love/hate neighborly fashion.

I’m no Michael Jackson, by any means, but I wear a Fedora. I like keeping my slightly balding head covered from the elements of sun, rain, and wind, and now the cold of early December in the concrete canyons of Manhattan. I think it’s cool and gives me a sense of maturity. Even the gals I’ve dated, including Julie, liked it, contrary to the ribbing from the guys at the precinct, who tell me I’m long out of fashion. I like to think I’m on the cusp of the return of a lost trend. A geezer on the go.

Contemplating a murder case looming in my immediate future, I retrieved the keys to my, beat up, fifteen year old, faded green, C-class Mercedes from the wise ass shit head kid in the hut of the parking lot down the corner from Julie’s place. Good mornin’, Arnold. I see my car’s still here. You take it joy ridin’ yet?

Sir? Yes, Sir! I mean no, Sir. I mean it’s here. I wouldn’t dare drive it. My friends would all laugh at me.

Why’s that, kid?

They only steal, I mean borrow, fine cars, Sir.

The little bastard’s still got attitude, but shows me deference ever since the time I put him up against the wall of his little key exchanging shed and threatened to expose his illicit cash-only scheme to his boss unless he showed more respect and, oh yeah, parked my car for free."

Well then, retrieve my not-so-fine automobile, Arnold. No new dents. I’ll be checking.

Right away, Sir. Manners cost nothing.

I headed off to my precinct house to meet up with both Captain DiVito and Officer Kim, and immerse myself in another grisly murder.

CHAPTER FIVE

Officer Kim was the first to greet me. Hi. How’s Julie?

What, no Hi, Jake, how the hell are you? How’s Julie?

OK. Hi, Jake, how the hell are you today? How’s Julie?

That’s more like it. I’m sure your sweet Korean parents would rather save face than hear you be so disrespectful to your elders. Julie’s wonderful. Thanks for askin’.

Up yours, Jake. With a spread of her arms she asked, How do you like the way I cleaned up your side of the desk, Oh great and honorable one?

I’ve been working with Officer Janette Kim on and off for the past three months. She’s a petite, very small breasted, not my type, upstart. A smart, quick to learn, no bullshit cop, she’s working her way up to detective. I think someday, she’ll make it.

We share partner’s desks in the squad room; two institutional grey desks facing each other, even though I refuse to have another authentic partner since Pete retired over three years ago. It’s beautiful, Kim! A good deed brightens a dark world. Now I’ll never find anything since you straightened it up, but thanks anyway. And the single stemmed yellow rose in the fluted vase right between us?...nice touch.

That’s my rose and don’t you touch it.

Thorny?

Did you just ask if I’m horny?

No, I asked, ‘Thorny’, like your rose. You know like a prick?

OK, you two stop your fighting. In my office now; both of you!

We’re not fightin’, Cap’n, I said grining. We’re just exchangin’ pleasantries before gettin’ down to the gruesome business of murder. As I closed the door to his glass cage, my mind replayed the events that led up to this, from Pete’s murder then, to the killing of his daugher’s girlfriend now. Catch me up on what you’ve learned since you called me earlier.

It’s become very complicated, so keep your hat in hand and hang on for the ride.

It’s a Fedora, Captain. A hat costs a lot less. You know, like the difference between a vase and a Vase.

Put your attitude away now, Jake. We need to get serious. Sit down, both of you. The vic is Dr. Jane McMillan. She worked as a staff cardiologist and surgeon at King’s County.

Yeah, so you said on the phone, Captain. Turning to Officer Kim, She and I met a couple of times, Janette, during Pete’s death investigation. She was the girlfriend of Pete’s daughter, Margarita.

I recall you mentioning her briefly. You weren’t dating Julie yet when you vividly described her as a ‘knock out’ you’d love to ‘poke’ if she wasn’t already outed.

Are you two through reminiscing about a case you already closed? Pete or no Pete?

Not so fast, Cap’n. My tone was a bit sharp, but I needed to capture his full attention. Two raised fingers preceded my correction. There are two dead people who knew each other. Both have died as the result of murder, and within only a few months? My detectin’ instincts tell me there may be a connection.

"That’s exactly why I called you in on your day off. I know how you think, so I want you and Officer Kim to partner up. I had to pull a lot of strings to get you two working with the Transit cops on this. I’ve already called MTA’s Deputy Chief McIlhenny at The Transit Bureau headquarters in Brooklyn Heights. He was not the most co-operative bureaucrat… at first; typically territorial, until I shoved in his face the fact that you, a Manhattan detective, had solved a murder over there in Brooklyn and he backed down, so tread softly around the Transit Cops."

Understood, was the simultaneous response from both of us.

A knowing smile spread my tongue-wetted lips. Holding out the three finger sign, I corrected. Actually, it was three murders, Captain. And simultaneously. But who’s counting?

Now the hard part.

You mean it gets harder, Captain? Janette asked.

What? You morphing into Jake’s sarcastic persona now, Officer Kim?

No way, Captain. That’s not possible. He’s copy-proof. Sorry, Sir, please go on.

She boarded the #2 train about eight a.m.at Brooklyn’s Winthrop/Norstrand Ave. station closest to King’s County sometime after her eleven to seven shift, presumably to go home. Her condo is here in Manhattan; 34 Leonard Street near her Franklyn St. exit. Since we don’t know yet if she was stabbed while the train was on the Brooklyn side or the Manhattan side. There’s a jurisdictional dispute between the Brooklyn Transit cops out of the 84th Precinct and the Manhattan Transits out of our 1st Precinct.

Opening both arms, palms up, she asked, Can’t we just compromise, split the difference, and assume it happened in the middle under the East River?

Exactly, Kim. Now you’re thinking like the good detective I might let you become. How’s that for sarcasm?

Ouch! Too close to home, Sir.

I got McIlhenny to agree to that too. He doesn’t want his boys fighting over a dead body.

Sounds to me like we need feet on the ground over there too, Captain. I’d like to get Sergeant Israel Pinkerman transferred from his Brooklyn 77th over to the 84th. He was a great help to me solving Pete’s murder. He’s good. In fact, I let Izzy take the credit.

Yes, I remember only too well, but that’s up to you, Jake. How you plan going about it?

Easy, Captain. I’ll call Alistair Simms, Pinkerman’s Captain over there. This guy’s a freakin’suck up. He owes me big time for not only clearin’ up Pete’s murder, but with Pinkerman’s help, the two others on his list of unsolveds. It also got him promoted to Captain from Lieutenant. He’s a real climber.

OK, you two, get going.

CHAPTER SIX

Kim and I left DiVito’s office and sat facing each other at our desks, notebooks out. All good detectives have a notebook; hers with current information, mine about to create my own. I sat back in my chair, crossed my arms, and swiveled side to side waiting for her to settle in. So tell me what you found out so far, Janette.

I just got back from the subway station where she was murdered.

Seeing her attention becoming focused, I uprighted, pulled my chair, belly up, to the desk and corrected her. You mean potential crime scene.

Yes, I mean crime scene, teach. Didn’t get very far butting heads with the Transit Cops, as you can imagine.

I drummed my fingers on the desk top. Well, according to our fearless leader in there, I said, looking and pointing at the crystal palace, as we all call it, That’s not gonna be a problem anymore, thanks to the generosity of Deputy Chief McIlhenny.

Let’s hope not, but I like your cynicism. Here’s what I know. She was very well liked and popular, so, when some folks who knew her, possible co-workers, thought she was sleeping, tried to stir her. She slumped over. That’s when they saw the icepick in her chest.

"Holy shit! The captain didn’t say anythin’ about an ice pick!"

I hadn’t had time to tell him all the details when you showed up. One was a nurse, a johnny-on-the-spot, who pushed the emergency stop and called 911; name’s Freida Truman. Doc’s purse was gone but they were sure who she was by her name tag. She was very dead and that’s when the poop hit the fan.

I let out a disgusted breath. I can just about guess.

"The whole system got backed up for over an hour. No way to disengage the car at that location. The train couldn’t go on until she was removed. Crime scene guys had to take pictures and everything else they do so they could get her off and get the system up and running again. It was a freaking mess, but they’re good at it. Lots of practice. Welcome to the Big Apple."

OK, you’ve got my attention. Any suspect, witnesses, or what?

Slow down, Detective. First of all, until otherwise, the Transit Bureau cops currently have the case since it was on the subway system. They interviewed everyone they could find who remained in the subway car at the time of the discovery. It’s unfortunate, but when the doors opened a load of passengers got off, as expected, unaware of the tragedy nearby or else wanting no part of it.

I felt my flesh begin to crawl, and a bit of nausea overcoming me. I slapped my palm flat onto my desk. Shit! There goes our murderer. Typical New Yorkers; ‘I don’t knows nutin’, officer.’.

Don’t be so sure, Jake.

Well, would you hang around after you just thrust a shiv into someone and had a clean way out?

It was an icepick, not a typical knife or so called ‘shiv’.

You’re right. I stand corrected. That could be very important. How many people actually use an ice pick these days anyway?

Exactly.

Flipped my wrist. "It’s eleven-thirty. I’m gettin’ hungry, how