tried to get through the stalled traffic. I could hear distant cursing as I cycled east. Three blocks later, no Ginny, no
Daily Press
in sight. I hung a right to the south, downtown. The sun was shining and I was enjoying my bulky blue bike in the big city. It was hard to concentrate on traffic and lights because of the distraction of the fascinating variety pack of humanity surging everywhere. It was like a zoo for every age, race, color, face and body ever invented.
When I was in the East Forties, I turned my girly bike right, towards Times Square. Half an hour later, I found another Citi Bike station near Broadway and 43rd to return my trusty wheels. I was at the Crossroads of the World, which was like being inside a giant video game, with all its lights, giant screen displays and electronic ads. I stood on the sidewalk on the east side of Broadway. Across the street was the open pedestrian area, with huge bleachers. On my side of the street were giant flashing billboards for Broadway musicals.
Why had Aubrey come here? There was the Times Square information center. Aubrey wouldn’t need tourist information. There was a Body Shop store. He might have bought some toiletry items but he didn’t have any purchases with him when he returned to the townhouse. There was a hotel. I asked a woman behind the desk if she knew who Aubrey was. She did know who he was but said he had not been there and thought I was nuts. By process of elimination, there was only one possible business left on the block.
I walked into the Times Square McDonald’s, which was filling up with lunchtime trade, and asked for the manager in my best command voice. I used my iPhone to call it up and showed him Aubrey’s photo in the
Mail.
“I just came from the murder scene. Did this guy come in here yesterday?”
“Wow. Yeah, looks like him.” The guy was young and skinny, with a buzz cut and an AIRBORNE tattoo on his arm. A name badge on his uniform shirt said EMILIANO .
“The guy was big as a house, ate like a hippo, man. Not easy to forget.”
He took me into a small back room with lockers, bathroom supplies and a computerized security camera system on a shelf, topped by a small flat screen that showed eight different camera views at once. He clicked on the previous day’s recordings and rewound them until he found a big white blur.
“Is that the guy?”
I watched Aubrey order a super-sized tray of a dozen Big Macs, fries and several giant chocolate shakes and then sit and methodically gobble it all down. It was impressive. A one-man eating contest. Then he went up and ordered a tray of apple pies and hot fudge sundaes and polished those off, too.
“Guy is something to watch, huh?” the manager said. “Thought the dude was going to eat the furniture.”
According to the time stamp on the footage, Aubrey, the big gourmet, was loving it at Mickey D’s from just after he left the townhouse until just before he rejoined his film crew at Bistro du Bois. Now I knew why he refused to tell the cops where he was. For him, the choice between a murder rap or an alibi that included a career-ending fast food pig-out might be a tough choice. I decided to come clean and told Emiliano who I was. Then I took a deep breath and really went for it. My mom always said if you don’t ask, you don’t get.
“Emiliano, this is very important. This footage may prove that this man is not a killer. Can I get a copy?”
“A DVD okay?”
“That would be great, thanks. Could I get two?”
“Sure.”
While he made the copies, I thought it out and decided to call Izzy’s cell phone.
“You again?” Izzy laughed in greeting.
“Congratulations,” I told him.
“For what?”
“For great police work that led you to the McDonald’s in Times Square and perhaps the prevention of a miscarriage of justice.”
“The fuck you talking about?”
I told him. Izzy sounded both annoyed and suspicious but I suspected that was his normal demeanor. He and Phil
Daily Press
in sight. I hung a right to the south, downtown. The sun was shining and I was enjoying my bulky blue bike in the big city. It was hard to concentrate on traffic and lights because of the distraction of the fascinating variety pack of humanity surging everywhere. It was like a zoo for every age, race, color, face and body ever invented.
When I was in the East Forties, I turned my girly bike right, towards Times Square. Half an hour later, I found another Citi Bike station near Broadway and 43rd to return my trusty wheels. I was at the Crossroads of the World, which was like being inside a giant video game, with all its lights, giant screen displays and electronic ads. I stood on the sidewalk on the east side of Broadway. Across the street was the open pedestrian area, with huge bleachers. On my side of the street were giant flashing billboards for Broadway musicals.
Why had Aubrey come here? There was the Times Square information center. Aubrey wouldn’t need tourist information. There was a Body Shop store. He might have bought some toiletry items but he didn’t have any purchases with him when he returned to the townhouse. There was a hotel. I asked a woman behind the desk if she knew who Aubrey was. She did know who he was but said he had not been there and thought I was nuts. By process of elimination, there was only one possible business left on the block.
I walked into the Times Square McDonald’s, which was filling up with lunchtime trade, and asked for the manager in my best command voice. I used my iPhone to call it up and showed him Aubrey’s photo in the
Mail.
“I just came from the murder scene. Did this guy come in here yesterday?”
“Wow. Yeah, looks like him.” The guy was young and skinny, with a buzz cut and an AIRBORNE tattoo on his arm. A name badge on his uniform shirt said EMILIANO .
“The guy was big as a house, ate like a hippo, man. Not easy to forget.”
He took me into a small back room with lockers, bathroom supplies and a computerized security camera system on a shelf, topped by a small flat screen that showed eight different camera views at once. He clicked on the previous day’s recordings and rewound them until he found a big white blur.
“Is that the guy?”
I watched Aubrey order a super-sized tray of a dozen Big Macs, fries and several giant chocolate shakes and then sit and methodically gobble it all down. It was impressive. A one-man eating contest. Then he went up and ordered a tray of apple pies and hot fudge sundaes and polished those off, too.
“Guy is something to watch, huh?” the manager said. “Thought the dude was going to eat the furniture.”
According to the time stamp on the footage, Aubrey, the big gourmet, was loving it at Mickey D’s from just after he left the townhouse until just before he rejoined his film crew at Bistro du Bois. Now I knew why he refused to tell the cops where he was. For him, the choice between a murder rap or an alibi that included a career-ending fast food pig-out might be a tough choice. I decided to come clean and told Emiliano who I was. Then I took a deep breath and really went for it. My mom always said if you don’t ask, you don’t get.
“Emiliano, this is very important. This footage may prove that this man is not a killer. Can I get a copy?”
“A DVD okay?”
“That would be great, thanks. Could I get two?”
“Sure.”
While he made the copies, I thought it out and decided to call Izzy’s cell phone.
“You again?” Izzy laughed in greeting.
“Congratulations,” I told him.
“For what?”
“For great police work that led you to the McDonald’s in Times Square and perhaps the prevention of a miscarriage of justice.”
“The fuck you talking about?”
I told him. Izzy sounded both annoyed and suspicious but I suspected that was his normal demeanor. He and Phil
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