Ailanthus. Antonio De Vito

Sam didn’t make it. I’m here about this, too. I know that it’s more than two months that I’m away. I don’t expect any special treatment and I don’t think that you could afford such a low-efficient coworker...” Stacie started off like a shot. She didn’t even look the Prosecutor straight in his eyes. It was the only way. On the other hand, she didn’t release the frustration since the moment when the doctor had stated Sam’s death to her.

      â€œKeep calm; let’s have a seat, so you can tell me what happened.” Douglas was extremely understanding, like a father. They sat close for almost one hour. He poured her a cup of coffee and Stacie could tell him everything she had lived in Geneva, from hopes to harsh reality. Douglas knew how to listen and understand Stacie’s state of mind and she felt like having in front of her a man able to understand pain.

      â€œI can only imagine how you feel. You don’t have to feel ashamed of your pain, but try to draw strength from this situation. I met you a few months ago because you were mentioned by Detective Cross. I didn’t know how you were, and even less if your decanted abilities were real. But I came to know a determined woman, almost stubborn, without for this reason renouncing to her fragilities.” Stacie was listening to him inebriated. “From this meeting I understand more than ever how complicated it is to let live together work and emotions. What I can assure you is that, the day that you’ll fully make it, you will be able to say you have control of yourself and live totally your life without having to necessarily sacrifice a part of it.”

      Stacie listened impressed to Prosecutor Douglas. His words hit the mark. They weren’t advices, but traced a road that seemed already covered. It was her turn and she had to get back in the game taking all the risks of the case.

      â€œI thank you a lot for your words, and even more for the way you welcomed me. To me that’s an extra reason to show you all my gratitude. If and when you consider it appropriate, I still will be available to give you my professional help.”

      â€œGood, that’s how we talk. You are so needed here. Frank Berrimow already called twice in the last hours to get informed about you. You know, he works at the Detective Bureau now and he’s the one who will help you on your next case. In your absence I’ve been designated as Prosecutor of New York Southern District. Now, we’ll deal with the cases happened in Brooklyn or in the Bronx, too.” Douglas poured more coffee in Stacie’s cup.

      â€œAre wheels already in motion?”

      â€œUnfortunately yes. A murder in the Flatbush neighborhood in downtown Brooklyn. A man’s throat was cut and the right eyeball was taken away.”

      â€œOh my God!” Stacie seemed horrified at Douglas’s words.

      â€œUnfortunately given the details, everything makes us think of...”

      â€œâ€¦ Of a psycho cut-throat around New York’s streets.” Stacie finished Douglas’s sentence.

      â€œExactly! And now it’s on you. Do you feel like diving out there again?”

      â€œYes, absolutely! I’ll go to Frank, so we can start as soon as possible. Prosecutor Douglas, remember that I owe you one.” Stacie, even if she was still recovering, seemed to take stock of Timothy Douglas’s words.

      -5-

      Frank Berrimow was sat at his desk and had in front of him a pile of papers through which he nervously went looking for something. There inevitably was his cup with the New York Police Department’s emblem on it. Frank was a Policeman proud of his work and proud of serving his country. The redundancy of symbols that reminded him his affiliation with the Community was so easy to find such in that Police Office as in a simple bar. Frank didn’t escape the stereotypical American guy at all.

      When he saw Stacie coming closer, he jumped. It was equally exciting to her. That experience together following the De Sena case, during which they both staked their lives, had the effect of creating between the two a strong complicity. They had worked together just for a few days but their relationship seemed to last long before. Frank didn’t know yet anything about what had happened in Geneva, so Stacie told him right away how it went and tried to let him understand how hard was for her to get back to work now that Sam wasn’t there anymore. Obviously she left out the whole nightmares that were haunting her thing; she wasn’t into the idea that she could be considered crazy, depressed or something like that. They had the chance to talk for a few minutes. You couldn’t consider Frank such a deep man as Timothy Douglas and Stacie knew this. She also knew that what could seem simple set phrases, the only ones that Frank could pull out during their conversation, came straight from his heart.

      â€œFrank, thank you for your words. If I’m here it’s to start working together again. Forget what happened in Switzerland, I’m trying to get over it quickly. I know I will need some time, but also with your help, I’m sure I’ll make it. Douglas told me about the terrible murder in Brooklyn, about your engagement at the Detective Bureau and gave me free reign. Now, tell me everything you know and let’s start without further delay.”

      â€œGreat. I’ve been here reading papers for two days, but you’re way better than me in this stuff. Now I’ll tell you. Do you already know the details of the murder, from the throat-cut to the injuries inflicted?”

      â€œYes, Douglas mentioned something, it’s terrifying.”

      â€œThe man murdered doesn’t have criminal records, there was no robbery of money and from the documents we know whose corpse it is. He was a forty-years-old married man. Besides the wife, he left also two daughters, ten and twelve years old. He lived in a nice apartment in Brooklyn. Basically an almost perfect life which didn’t suggest this kind of end.”

      â€œAnd why was he in that area in the middle of the night? That’s not a nice place.”

      â€œI interviewed his wife very tactfully, given the situation. It seems that that evening they had had a small argument, nothing flagrant, and he had left by car to ‘clear his mind’. She said that he often had this kind of reaction when they argued at home.”

      â€œWhat were they arguing about?”

      â€œI didn’t feel to insist. Someone just killed her husband and I didn’t feel like insisting.”

      â€œSure. Obviously we have no validation of this version, but I don’t think it’s important in our killer research. I also think that the wife told the true.” Stacie tended to exclude the wife from this story, maybe making a mistake, because she couldn’t attribute such an atrocious crime to a woman.

      â€œWhat were you reading before?” Stacie looked at the papers on Frank’s desk.

      â€œOh, yes. I was doing some research about serial murders happened in the State in the last decades, trying to understand if there are some common elements between this case and the most famous ones.” Frank was clearly clumsy in front of Stacie. He almost feared that he couldn’t live up with her role. When it occurred, he looked away to the floor and started stammer. It wasn’t hard to understand. But Stacie did nothing to emphasize it. That allowed him to rapidly recover and delude himself that, maybe, she didn’t even notice it.

      â€œWhat have you found of interesting?”

      â€œNothing at all. And, if I have to be honest, while I was flipping through these papers, I really hoped you were coming back, because you’d surely do a better work than mine.”

      â€œDon’t beat yourself up. While doing a search you never know which way to go. If you’re lucky you’ll turn to the shortest that brings you to your destination, but if you don’t have the stars on your side, you can spend sleepless nights without get blood out a stone. Let’s do this, I take these papers and leave you free to go. Try to know something else about the victim