Free Seven Ways to Die by William Diehl Page B

accepted at the NYPD police academy.
    He neither expected nor got any favors. He graduated top of the class and started his career as a patrolman. Bright, dependable, intuitive, eager, unassuming, professional, all defined his slow climb up the ladder where he made detective after eleven years. His sergeant was Frank Rizzo.
    It took four years of careful screening and special training during which Cody and Rizzo developed the men and women whose unique qualities defined the TAZ before Rizzo brought his name up. They had been searching a month or two for one more cop to round out the crew.
    “There’s this kid in the Fifth…” Rizzo began one day then stopped as he ran Bergman’s qualifications through his head.
    “Yeah?” Cody said.
    “Tall, good-looking guy. A real chick magnet.” Rizzo paused, staring into space as he thought some more about Bergman. He nodded. “Yeah, he was really good.”
    “He couldn’t be that good if it took you four years to remember him.”
    “Well, he was a quiet guy. Not pushy, you know. Not a glory hound. A very professional guy. Knew a lot about forensics. Very tough but not so’s you’d notice it. I got thinking about him last night.”
    “Does this guy have a name?”
    “Yeah,” Rizzo said. “Uh…Bergman. Maybe we should pull his record and see what he’s been up to.”
     So they pulled his record. They interviewed him. And he had what Cody called “the wisdom for the job.” Only one problem: he didn’t want to lose his place at the Fifth Precinct. He was “emotionally attached” to the crew there. Go figure. But somehow Cody liked the sound of even that. It might even be a good idea to have a NYPD regular on the team, as practical—and public relations—liaison to keep the regulars’ noses from going out of joint. So Cal fit perfectly, like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Calvin Bergman became the last jewel in the crown.
    Δ
    They were three blocks down Lexington when Bergman rolled down the window and put the light on the roof. He kept nudging the siren as they wound their way south.
    Cody held up the bag of receipts and shook them a little.
    “What do you know about Handley’s last day on earth, Cal?”
    “He had three meetings in Cincinnati. His limo driver picked him up at home at about four-thirty, a.m. Handley flew American. He was traveling light. No luggage. The flight was about twenty minutes late taking off and got in about seven forty-five. Had a room at the Airport Hilton and had breakfast in the room. My guess is he wanted to freshen up and brief himself for his first meeting which was a lunch at high noon with a man named Wilkes at a German place called the Hofbrau.
    “His second meeting was at a bar in the Wilkes Hotel. A woman named Christine Sykes. Got there about four and the meeting lasted an hour-and-a-half. One vodka and rocks, two Manhattans. My guess is the lady was drinking the Manhattans. It’s a lady’s drink.
    “Also he had his big meeting early, at six—probably because he had an eight-fifty flight back—so he would have laid off the booze. I say big meeting because the dinner meetings usually are and the restaurant was very expensive. The Hoar’s Hound Inn. They had a bottle of Australian Malbec that cost a hundred and twenty bucks. His client was Ernst Braufmann, CEO of a very profitable statewide chain of upscale supermarkets. Self-made man who turned his father’s grocery store into a gold mine. Handley was out of there by seven forty-five, caught the flight back to New York.
    “They were about fifteen minutes late landing at LaGuardia, ten-thirty. His driver picked him up and he went by his office for about twenty minutes. But he didn’t go home after that. He made a note in the book. He cut the driver loose somewhere downtown at eleven-fifty but he doesn’t say where. I’m sure the driver will remember. No taxi receipt for the last ride home.”
    “You have an amazing memory, Cal.”
    “But it’s short