The Dog Killer of Utica Read Free Page B

morning, she pulls away from the curb, her radio tuned to FM Albany. When nearing the Thruway entrance, a crushing bulletin: “
This just in. Longtime Troy favorite, respected detective, and Christmas Day Parade Santa Claus, Robert Rintrona, is reported to be in grave condition at Saint Jude’s Hospital after suffering three gunshot wounds in the driveway of his west Troy home, early this morning. Details and updates at the top of the hour. And now back to our regularly scheduled program, and Act Two of Verdi’s
Un Ballo in Maschera,
a great love of the detective’s, as we are told
.”
    She turns back, racing over the speed limit toward Saint Jude—the hospital and the Saint himself.
    The heavy workout and even heavier breakfast make it difficult for Conte to stay awake as he drives across town to Mary Street, where he takes a long, hot shower, somehow resists the urge to try Catherine on her cell, then curls up on the couch and sleeps for an hour. Awake, reviews his notes forhis last presentation of the semester, metaphysical nihilism in
Moby-Dick
, when he’s rescued from Melville’s terror by the desk phone.
    “Eliot.”
    “Where are you? Almost home?”
    “On the Thruway.”
    “When will you be home?”
    “About an hour.”
    “Drive safely.”
    “I always drive safely.”
    “Miss me, Catherine?”
    “Yes.”
    “Watch out for bad drivers. They’re the ones who—”
    “I’ll try.”
    “Really watch out.”
    “I’ll try.”
    “No need to rush.”
    “No.”
    “Kyle asked after you. He has a thing for you, even though he’s gay. He says he’s only gay at the surface.”
    “Eliot, are you sitting or standing?”
    “What’s that supposed to—?”
    “Eliot. Sitting or standing?”
    “Standing. Christ, Catherine.”
    “You should sit.”
    “What happened? Are you—?”
    “Nothing. I’m fine.”
    “Miranda?”
    “No.”
    “Bobby Rintro—?”
    “Bobby was shot.”
    “They killed Bobby?” (Coldly.)
    “He’s still alive. Why did you say ‘they’?”
    “How bad?” (Coldly.)
    “Bad.”
    “Where? When?”
    “Walking his dog this morning in his pajamas and robe and Santa hat. In front of the house. Maureen was still asleep. Three times.”
    “Not the head. Don’t tell me—”
    (Conte breaks down. She thinks it’ll never end.)
    “Shoulder. Neck. Missed the artery. Chest … They have grave concern … Lung damage. The trauma surgeon says a decent recovery is possible.”
    “What is decent supposed to mean? Fifty-fifty chance of dying?”
    “He never lost consciousness until they put him under.”
    (Silence.)
    “Are you there, Eliot?”
    “Did you see Maureen?”
    “No.”
    “Did you talk to the responding officers?”
    “Patrolmen Joe Dominguez and Neal Brady.”
    “Bobby could still talk?”
    “He said an upstate plate. Likely Utica.”
    “He’ll survive?”
    “Bobby was coughing blood. Brady said drowning in his own—”
    “Don’t say it. I’ll drive down.”
    “No point. No one outside Maureen and the kids forseveral days. Dominguez thinks he said something about Eddie or Ellie or something. He couldn’t quite get it. ‘Tell Eddie or Ellie that it finally—’ ”
    “Finally? Finally what?”
    “ ‘Tell Eddie or Ellie that it finally—’ That’s all they got. ‘That it finally—’ ”
    (Long silence.)
    “Eliot, are you still there?”
    “You shouldn’t be talking and driving.”
    “I’ll be home soon.”
    “I’ll be at class when you—I’ll cancel.”
    “Don’t. We’ll talk after.”
    “Which hospital?”
    “Saint Jude. Albany.”
    “Patron saint of lost causes.”
    “Yes, Eliot.”
    One call from Troy and Conte’s dragged back into the past. Can he keep the truth from her? If he can’t, he’s sure he’ll lose her. And if he can—what then? He’s certain beyond a reasonable doubt that Bobby Rintrona’s assailant was Antonio Robinson, and that he’s next on the hit list.
    Can’t prepare—head aswim—will stick