Ailanthus. Antonio De Vito
They had come running without knowing what sight they would have had to witness.
Sergeant Berrimow directed the first operation on the crime scene. Even to Frank that scene had a definitely strong impact, although the experience on the De Sena case was still carved in his mind.
Frank Berrimow had spent two weeks in hospital before totally recovering, after the incident in Fort Tryon Park. That story left him in legacy an ugly scar under his right shoulder, but also a promotion to the grade of Sergeant and the relocation to the Detective Bureau. Now he was dealing with murders and his boss was Jack Folasky. He didnât regret Cross. Folasky seemed to believe in him much more than Cross had done in the past. Frank, for this reason, was really enthusiastic about his new assignment.
The images of that awful crime made him immediately pay the thought to Stacie Scott. Frank wished that she was coming back to New York as soon as possible. He couldnât know what had happened in Switzerland and he couldnât imagine in what conditions she would have come back.
Finished the Preliminaries and fenced off the area to avoid that the curious would interfere with the investigations, Frank left the operationâs control to his coworker Michael Pet and went to the headquarter, the One Police Plaza, to refer to his boss Jack Folasky. Frank wanted to understand if that brutal crime, committed in the neighborhood of Flatbush, could be the prelude of something worse. Also, he was worrying about Stacieâs extended absence and whether that murder could be assigned to another attorney because of territoriality matters. If it was like that, Stacie had no chance to follow that case.
âJack, what I saw itâs incredible. That man was pulled out the window of his car with an inconceivable violence and had his throat cut clean. Also thereâs the matter that concerns the ferocity with which the murderer went after the body. Iâm worried that we should expect some other murderers.â
Jack Folasky was the head of the Detective Bureau from more than two years. He found in his cup of coffee, always on his desk, every answer when it was time to receive some. Even if it wasnât normal in that environment, he hated the smoke and because of this, his guys before getting in his room always checked one another. He was more than fifty years old but he was looking good.
âFrank, how long have you been here at the Detective Bureau?â Meanwhile, he was tinkering his bonsai with a tweezers and a magnifying glass.
âFor about three months, Boss.â
âMaybe this is the reason why what youâve seen seems incredible to you. But what you said itâs true. A scene like the one you described to me makes me think of a psycho. Thereâs not much to relax about.â
âBoss, do you think that this murder is in Prosecutor Douglasâ responsibility? Well, itâs Brooklynâs?â
âDonât worry; I know you hope to work again with Stacie Scott. Douglas is now Prosecutor of New York Southern District. There wonât be any territorial incompatibility. The bigger problem for the moment is Stacie Scottâs forced absence. We all hope that sheâll come back soon, in full of her abilities.â
Frank Berrimow went confidently out of Folaskyâs room sharing the same hope about Stacieâs rapid return.
-3-
Stacie, leaving Annie still in Switzerland for the last paperwork, got the first flight to New York. She faced her plane trip in a state of agitation. She hadnât plan to go back home alone. She didnât even think that there by her side, for all those hours, she couldnât squeeze Samâs hand. Yet that was the way things were. Stacie would have hated that plane for the rest of her life.
The flight, though, was long and Stacie after one hour spent flipping through a couple magazines, of the ones that you can usually find on a plane, tried to relax slightly reclining the seat. It didnât take long until she fell asleep. The captain of the planeâs voice, that kept repeating to the passengers about the weather conditions, the planeâs speed and many other information that were considered essential, cradled her. She was exhausted, and the glass of prosecco given to her just before by the hostess, gave her the final blow.
âStacie, donât move; Iâll come to you.â
âSam, tell me that it was just a nightmare. Iâm feeling awful. How can I get home by myself?â Stacie started to sweat again and the planeâs seat had almost completely stretched out horizontally. Stacie didnât have control of her arms and legs anymore and couldnât get back up. Big pearls of sweat continued to line her face down until wetting her hair, while her fingernails were marking the seatâs leather. Then she felt herself shaking repeatedly until, finally, she opened her eyes.
âMaâam, are you feeling good? Iâve noticed that youâre really nervous and youâre sweating a lot.â
âYouâre right. Iâm not feeling good at all. Could you bring me a glass of water, please?â
Stacie had regained consciousness, but a feeling of angst was still inside her. That nightmare had shaken her and left a sense of inquietude because she couldnât interpret the words that Sam had pronounced many times.
This time the shot was tough to absorb. Stacie already managed to take back her life in little time when Sam had gone away leaving her without a reason, but this time there was no pride or sense of payback to make her reaction trigger. This time a huge sense of void denied her the right of react.
The arrival in New York was a release. That flight had been terrible. Although she repeatedly tried, she couldnât sleep a wink. As soon as she could, exhausted by the tiredness, the nightmares took over.
Maybe going back home would have helped her to start again. She didnât even know what to expect because she was missing from many weeks now and she couldnât predict how it would be to build up her life again for the second time.
Her apartment in Madison Street seemed more cold than usual. Her extended absence had contributed to make that place even more desolated. It wouldnât be enough to buy some more cacti or change the curtainsâ texture. That flat couldnât do justice to the flow of feelings suffocated in Stacieâs soul and that only Sam, until then, could pull out.
She took her jacket off and went towards the pantry. She looked for the first bottle of red wine that came her way and, after uncorking it she literally dived into it with all her thoughts. She would have wanted to drown in it.
She woke up some hours later, more tired and woozy than before because of the wine she had drunk. She tried to get up, and although it was already night, she went to take a shower. She would have tried anything to wash away that hospital stink that she could smell on her skin. But it wouldnât be enough diving into the water, because Stacie was carrying that smell inside.
-4-
Right after 7:00 A.M, Stacie decided to go out and look for a Starbucks. Maybe a coffee would have revived her. She hadnât sleep at all and keeping her eyes open was a real challenge. She was meaning to go to the District Attorneyâs office and have a chat with Prosecutor Douglas. She couldnât and wouldnât hide her state of mind and hoped that Douglas was willing to give her a chance.
She slowly drank her coffee trying to get slowly back in her shoes. A multitude of thoughts and images went through her mind before her eyes. She didnât cry but, maybe, just because she didnât have any tears left.
The Starbucks was already quite crowded at that time and Stacie tried to look around to observe peopleâs faces. She really liked it. Sometimes she dwelled so much, risking being even misunderstood. She liked finding details, analyzing the uniqueness. Often, even simple moves captured her attention. This habit distracted her and deflected her thoughts from the daily routine. This time she needed a huge concentration exercise, but her commitment was very laudable.
She went to the DAâs office by cab; it was