Secret Radio Murders - Draft 2 - Chapter 4

by Geri Fitzsimmons & Andy Stephenson1

Set close by the sidewalk, the gasoline smell from the automobile-jammed road lingered in the vestibule but no one noticed. New York meant cars and people, too many people and too many cars, a fact of life New Yorkers recognized. A neon sign flashing ‘Mallory’s’ was only green now; the white lights had sputtered and died last night. That morning the sign ended up on a three-week waiting list to be repaired. Mallory didn’t complain, this had been his city for thirty years, so he expected such inconveniences. It wouldn’t likely hurt his business. “My trade is programmed.” He laughed at the young waitress. 2

“With the sign all wacky, I’m going to take a hit on tips,” Sandy bemoaned. Only a two-year resident, Sandra May Hart hadn’t developed the expertise to be a New Yorker.3

Mallory's Pub on the East side of Manhattan boasted mostly police clientele. Oh, certainly there were other patrons, but it was a cops' bar. Years ago when his pa ran the pub, Mallory himself wore the blue, so his peers naturally flocked to the place. 4

Detective Sergeant Joseph Farley immediately felt the atmospheric change as he stepped into Mallory's to escape a hot June sun. Summertime and New York was a city of scorched concrete and cooked pavement. It was a cool 72 degrees in the pub and the smell of alcohol permeated the air. It was dimly lit inside and most of the seats at the bar were occupied.5

"Hi guys," said Joe. Several of the men from the 66th precinct nodded or spoke a greeting in reply. It was nearly seven.6

The bartender paused in pulling the tap on a thick head of Harp Ale. Waiting for it to settle, he raised a hand in salute as he mouthed, "Hiya Joe." 7

Farley nodded and moved on up to long mahogany bar. “Hot as Hell,” he said. “How’s business Matt?” 8

"Could be better, but you guys scare all the rich crooks away."9

“Never happen in this town.” Farley spent a good amount of his free time at Mallory’s though he wasn’t a particularly heavy drinker. Now that his freshly-divorced wife had taken their daughter to live with her parents in Cincinnati, Farley was alone. The small apartment he could afford in the city ate at his sanity, so he used it for sleeping and cleaning up. When he wasn’t working, he could usually be found at Mallory’s. 10

Mallory’s was also his main supplier of substance, and the over indulgence in sandwiches was beginning to show in the slight extra frontage. At least once a day, he’d chastise himself. He was getting a paunch. Forty-five, divorced, and developing a paunch—things were really looking good for him.11

"Bring me a Heineken, Sandy," he said motioning toward an empty table. “Think I’ll park there. Haven’t ate since breakfast.” 12

"Heineken? That's a change for yah. What's the occasion?" Sandy was cute with a pile of brunette curls, wide blue eyes and a smile that rarely dissolved. At twenty-five, she still had a fresh, soap and water, complexion. She was a bold little business just over five foot and showed an open interest in Joe Farley.13

Fun to play with, still, Joe Farley didn’t want the complication of a relationship. Especially not with a girl in her twenties. Shit! He was old enough to be her father; he didn't need it, not now. "Just wanted something different. Come over here an sit in my lap when you bring my beer," he kidded. 14

"Not in your lifetime.” She giggled. “Beside I’m tooo busy. What are you gonna eat?”15

"Got something better than you on the menu?” 16

“The boss made stew.”17

“Number one! You take the prize—that even beats what I was thinking of.” 18

“Dirty old man,” Sandy threw back over her shoulder at him as she hustled towards the kitchen.19

Time moved along quickly. Farley finished two bowls of the thick beef stew with four biscuits loaded with butter. He washed it down with Heinekens and then switched to a Coors light. He joked with Sandy and the bartender, exchanged cop talk with a few officers. Then he saw the clock over the bar strike ten. It was intentionally set ten minutes fast, so when it was last call, the pub closed on time. 20

A few minutes past that hour, Joe looked up. Neil was on time. Joe gave a wave as his friend came through the door.21

Dr. Neil Harris had a long-standing habit on the nights he worked. He left his home precisely an hour and forty minutes before he reported for duty at the radio station. He drove into lower Manhattan and arrived at Mallory’s when the clock said ten after ten. It wasn’t a thirst for alcohol that drew Neil to the pub; it was the companionship of the predominately male clientele. He would order a sandwich with a coke, and enjoy good-natured banter with the Regulars before heading to KJAB to suffer through three hours of strangers’ problems. 22

Joe’s practice was to wait for Neil’s arrival. The two men met in college over a quarter of a century ago. Their professional and personal lives had taken very different paths, but they continued to remain close. 23

Joe attempted to balance the politics and demanding work required for advancement in New York police force with maintaining a family. He knew he’d sacrificed one for the other so often he failed at both. So now, he was a middle-aged sergeant, divorced and had become a part-time daddy.24

While Joe stumbled through life, Neil stepped lively. Never married, he had a well paying practice, a newly remolded Brownstone, a BMW and small yacht before he hit forty. Thirty pounds overweight, a rapidly graying head with a noticeable bald plate Neil was five years Joe’s senior. Not what you might call handsome, Neil possessed a voice that could soothe a mad dog and he’d become the star of a late night radio show. "How're things going?" he asked as he slipped into the waiting chair at Joe’s table.25

“Which complaint can you handle best, Doc.” Joe grinned and tapped his forehead with one finger. “My empty brain or my empty pocket?”26

Neil was notoriously generous so Sandy moved in quickly for the expected tip. “The usual?”27

“That would be fine.” Neil smiled at waitress. Then turned his attention back to Joe. Childless himself, he took a special interest in his friend’s daughter. “How’s our girl doing?”28

“Rose called last night. Money as usual. Wants me to direct deposit the support checks.” He took a sip from a beer still nearly full and going flat. “Talked to Becca for a while. She sounded better. Made some new friends at school. Not having much of a problem with her studies—that’s a good thing.”29

“You better believe it. Switching schools at the end of the year could have played havoc with a twelve-year–old’s exams. I don’t know what Rose was thinking.”30

Sandy set the ham and cheese on rye, and a tall coke before him. Neil grinned. Then he said, “I’d marry you if I was younger.”31

"You’re too late. Sandy and I are going to run off together,” said Joe with an exaggerated wink. “How about we take off tonight?" 32

"I love your gray eyes, but I can never tell what's behind them," returned Sandy. "Sure, I could be ready tonight. But then, I’ll have to think about that. Neil’s got that boat." She flounced away.33

Neil finished a half of sandwich, and between bites washed it down with coke. He toyed with the remainder as he remarked, “ Joe, something’s bothering me.”34

“You? Now that’s a change.”35

"I was reading in the morning newspaper, one of our callers might have committed suicide.” He eyed the policeman with a serious frown. “It came to me, that I read about a couple of others, who may have been our callers, that killed themselves, all in the last couple of months. Does that seem odd to you?"36

"Well, New York is a big city.” Joe considered for a minute. “Your kind of show attracts people with problems.”37

“True—and we get a large number of them, or they wouldn’t give us the airtime.” Neil took a prescription bottle from his pants’ pocket, flipped the cover and shook two white pills in his palm; popping them in his mouth he drank the rest of his coke.38

“What's this drugging up in front of a cop?”39

“Right, I almost wish they were recreational. Damn gut of mine.” Neil replaced the lid and the bottle. Then he continued, “Most of our callers are just lonely, they need someone to talk to. When I do spot a real problem I switch them over to Crisis Center. There’s been at least one a night lately…high but still most people, who say they want to die, really don’t." Neil broke the half of sandwich in half. Then changed his mind and left it on the plate. “Just a guess but I think there were perhaps six names I recognized in the past several months.”40

“Six? It does seem high.” Joe was suddenly very interested. He lightly scratched the side of his nose as he habitually did when thinking. His eyes squinted and he asked, “Do you remember those names?" 41

"I'm certain of the last woman’s. That's another thing, they were all women. The last one was Michelle."42

“The last name?”43

“In this case it’s Baine. We don’t take their last names; but when we switch them over to the Crisis line, they can ID them and send them help if necessary. I called them, but while they posted her name and address in their files they never sent anyone. The volunteer that spoke with her, Dale something, he said she communicated well, even joked a bit and was certain I misunderstood her.”44

"Hmmm…how about those other names?”45

“We still have the tapes. I’ll have Mark dig them out. We can check them against the time their file was made and get the ID from the Crisis Center.”46

“You do that, in the meantime I'll look into the Baine suicide." Joe assured Neil.47

Sandy stopped at their table. Her attractive face held a serious expression, which was out of character. She announced, "I've told Matt that tonight's my last night. I can pack and be ready in thirty minutes." Sandy maintained a straight face.48

Joe seemed lost for a reply. He simply stared at her.49

Then she broke out laughing.