Ailanthus

-6-

Jack Folasky was in his office attempting to fix some papers, when he saw Stacie coming in from the partially open door.

“Welcome back, Stacie. Frank was in anxiously waiting. I guess you’ve already met, so I can spare you the details.” Folasky wasn’t as fascinated as Douglas about Stacie’s investigative abilities. In addition, he didn’t have a big estimation of women. Despite everything, he was used to give everyone a chance.

“I’m here most of all to know you better and understand if there are some suspects, some traces I can start following. Prosecutor Douglas gave me free reign and I’m completely at your disposal.”

“Stacie, It’s clear to everyone that this murder preludes to something else. Because of this, all of my best men are with their eyes open in the worst streets of Flatbush neighborhoods. Unfortunately, from my experience, I think that the next victim will hardly be in that area. In the meantime, Frank and you can take any action. Keep me updated about any aspect, even apparently insignificant.” Although he doubted of Stacie’s abilities, Folasky couldn’t refuse the expertise of the District Attorney’s assistant.

“I’ll try to give my aid to the investigation. I see that this story has some totally different edges from the one I previously dealt with, but my engagement won’t be different, that’s for sure.” Stacie was lying. Surely she was scared of what was going to be. It wasn’t about a missing person but a brutal murder. The difference was obvious. Moreover, she was entering that case in the worst state of mind possible, after Sam’s death. Only a huge strength of character, united to her huge commitment to her job, could give her back full confidence in herself.

By the time Stacie got back home, it was late in the evening. The return had been definitely challenging. If only Sam was there with her, now she would have gone to bed tired but willing to go back to the Department deciding with Frank how to give the first breakthrough. Unfortunately she unavoidably dragged with her the pain from the separation with Sam, a pain that was going to accompany her over a very long period of time.

From the manholes was coming out so much steam that visibility was really reduced. As if it wasn’t enough, the street lighting seemed to work worse than usual. It was really cold and that wool coat wasn’t enough at all to shelter her. It was hard to move forward without risking to trip over something or simply catch the corner of a wall.

She was walking slowly putting her hands in front of her to make her way. She started hearing her shoes making a strange noise. She had the feeling of walking in mud. She started to have difficulties to move forward and didn’t understand what was over the shroud of mist. A few more steps and just a little more light showed her the most horrible scene in which she really was. She was walking in a gigantic blood pool that went from one side to the other of the street. At least a centimeter of smoky liquid blood was covering the asphalt that she was hurrying so hard to traverse. She managed not to vomit and walked another couple meters until she turned the corner to understand where was that stuff coming from. She saw a black car with the motor off and the lights still on. From the driver’s window she could see a shadow. She forced herself to move forward in that terrible situation. The stink was so strong to get into the brain. She could feel the smell of blood inside her.

When she was two steps from the car, she stretched out a hand towards the shadow. A street-lamp lighted again in that very moment and lighted up what was Sam’s face with the throat torn apart so that he had lost river of blood, that same blood that was rinsing down the whole street. Stacie didn’t ‘t hold back a scream, although her hands were on her mouth. Then she backed off of a few steps but she fell disastrously on the ground swallowed by mist and blood.

In that very moment, Stacie opened her eyes and found herself on the floor next to the couch of her apartment swallowed by blankets. She took a few minutes to get over the state of panic which she had drowned in. Another nightmare. She burst into tears and stayed sit there for a while before deciding that having a shower was the only way to get that discomfort away. So she did.

-7-

Stacie that morning was showing off bags under her eyes worthy of the best insomnia.

“Hi Frank, what’s new?”

“Good morning, Stacie, you don’t look well. I’ll try to cheer you up with some fresh news. I know well that, when you start working, whatever your discomfort is, then it goes away.”

“You’re absolutely right. Tell me everything then.”

“I had a chat with the coroner, doctor Andrea Coretti. The weapon that provoked the mortal cut to the throat was a switchblade, while the eyeball could have been removed with the same knife used for the murder as well as with a fruit corer.” Frank was excited, not at all disgusted by those macabre particulars. He couldn’t give any sense to the information received by the coroner, but he was sure that Stacie knew how to interpret them.

“Well, we know that the killer didn’t use common weapons. He might not be a professional killer. Are there any fingerprints?”

“Apparently not.”

“Did your coworker Michael give you any useful detail?”

“Unfortunately not.” Frank, as it usually happened to him when he was embarrassed, took his eyes off Stacie. After all, he didn’t come with big news.

In that moment Officer Pet came to call the two of them.

“Please, follow me in the Boss’ office. There’s something you two should know.”

Frank and Stacie looked at each other with a mixed expression of surprise and dismay.

“Guys, I called you because horror is spreading in the Brooklyn neighborhood. To people and newspapers the killer is known as the ‘Cut-throat’ and, as predictable, the press won’t easily look away from a such a juicy prey...”

Besides Stacie and Frank, on Jack Folasky’s office there were about twenty agents engaged at the Detective Bureau.

“... So, we’re in front of two priorities now. The Cut-throat and the pressure of the public opinion. I demand maximum commitment. Sergeant John Cutter will help with the investigation together with Frank Berrimow and obviously Stacie Scott, DA’s assistant.”

Stacie walked out of that room thoughtful. The time available wasn’t never enough in those cases, especially if there was the fear that another murder could happen.

Frank got close to her just in that moment and tried to change the atmosphere that was definitely serious. Frank didn’t take John Cutter’s designation in the wrong way. Maybe this way he would have run out of some responsibility.

“Stacie, tomorrow evening my wife will force me to attend a boring charity evening. Why don’t you come with us? There’ll be a lot of powerful people from New York. You know how these things work. It could be a good way to change scenery and clear your head.”

“I don’t know what to say, but after all you got a point.”

Stacie thought that changing scenery could really give her some ideas. Things were getting damn serious and she needed to find a starting point.

The following evening, Frank, in the company of his wife Shona and Stacie, went to the Empire State Building. At the hundred-second floor there was taking place a gala event organized by the second world war’s veterans committee. There were old soldiers that wore with pride their best uniforms accompanied by their relatives, that followed them sometimes proud, and in some other cases clearly bored. The hall was perfectly staged. American flags and banners were everywhere. It wasn’t missing the usual full buffet. A Captain dead a few weeks before was commemorated in occasion of this evening.

“Shona, how is it that you’re so bounded to these memorials?” Stacie broke the ice.

“My dad died in war. Anyone who had a parent engaged in a war such as the second world war or Vietnam is marked for life. And if your dad doesn’t come back with his legs, I don’t know if you can understand how strong can pain be. These occasions are needed to share emotions and keep the memory alive.”

“You’re right. Pain is an intimate emotion and I deeply respect every attempt to relieve the sufferance caused from a human loss.”

Stacie didn’t lose a loved one in war, but what had happened to Sam in Fort Tryon Park was really close to a battle. As if it wasn’t enough Sam had passed away because of a cancer, the only feeling of not having him anymore with her destroyed her, so she really understood Shona’s words.

While Stacie and Shona were talking sipping an aperitif, two men came close, a veteran who moved slowly forward with his stick accompanied by a man on his forties.

“Hello, if I may disturb. You are lawyer Stacie Scott, aren’t you?”

The man in his 40s clearly showed to know already the answer.

“Yes, that’s me. How can I help you?” Stacie was surprised, but the fact that someone recognized her wasn’t new anymore.

“Downtown I read about that tragic murder in Brooklyn. Maybe you could tell us something more. Does the police suspect about anyone?”

Stacie felt kind of annoyed by both the question and the fact that she didn’t have any clue about how to answer.

“The Police is working hard. I’m doing my consultancy job on behalf of the District Attorney. I can’t tell you anything, but we’ll do everything possible to put behind bars that psycho.”

In the meantime, Frank heard the statement and appreciated Stacie’s way to decouple. They had no lead, that was the truth. That couldn’t be shouted out from the rooftops.

“I’m sure of it. The killer has his days numbered. If he would have known that Stacie Scott was going to follow the case, he would have thought of it twice before cutting that man’s throat.”

“You’re overestimating me. Anyway I get your compliments as an omen. I don’t seem to have heard your name, though.”

“You can call me Matt.”

Matt neatly said goodbye and went away in the crowd. Maybe he was the son of that soldier or of a man dead in the second world war. Stacie understood that the interest caused from that murder was stronger than she thought. The fear that a killer was around on the loose was a lot and a second crime would create panic among the public opinion.

Frank praised Stacie for the way she had answered that man. It was unavoidable, in a public place, to risk to expose themselves with people’s questions. Although, Stacie managed not to lose her temper.

Between chats and some drinks a couple more hours passed before the evening came to an end and Stacie could go back home.

-8-

On 11 November 1995 in New York, as in every other corner of the United States, they were celebrating the armistice day. It was a special year because it was the recurrence of the second world war’s decennial.

In Fulton Street, west of Flatbush Avenue, was taking place a commemorative evening. About thirty veterans accompanied by their families were meeting in that house for a few years already to remember their missing comrades. Hugs and smiles appeared every time with the same spirit. What permeated from the faces of those soldiers was the gained consciousness that they made it, without never forgetting the past. To organize the armistice day was Tenant J.F. Jordan. His initials stood for John Frencies. He had come back from Europe a few weeks before the others, but he would have carried the signs of that terrible experience in his skin for all of his life.

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