by Steven Henry
“So he won’t trust you?”
He gave her a wry smile. “You think he trusts me now? Evan O’Malley doesn’t trust anyone, Erin. But he finds me useful. The moment he doesn’t, I’m done.”
“Done, as in…”
“Done,” he repeated.
“If Evan does decide you’re a liability,” she said, “how will you know?”
“I’ll know when the bullet goes into the back of my head. He’ll use someone close to me, so I’ll not see it coming.”
“Someone like Corky or Ian?”
“Anyone but them,” he said. “Corky’s the one lad who’d never betray me, and Ian’s… well, he’s a special case. He’s not, precisely, in the Life.”
“You can’t be a part-time gangster,” Erin said.
Carlyle laughed quietly. “Ian always wanted to be one of the lads, but I wouldn’t let him. I helped him through school, kept him out of trouble with the coppers. You’ve seen his file, I’m sure.”
She nodded.
“Then you know the lad’s been clean for better than ten years. I’d like to think I put him on a better path.”
“Then why’s he still here? Why’s he working for you?”
“The poor lad had some rough experiences overseas, with the Marines. I fear combat left him with a particular set of skills and a mindset not well-suited to most employment.”
“In other words, he’s a professional killer,” she said.
“If he is, it’s your government made him one,” Carlyle said sharply. “He’d kill for me if he had to, but he’s never done it.”
“He’s another one of yours,” Erin said softly, understanding.
He raised an eyebrow. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“Siobhan’s like a daughter to you,” she said. “Ian’s like a son.”
“Maybe.”
“You really want a family, don’t you,” she said. It was more statement than question.
“Erin, you’re from a stable home,” he said. “I’ll wager you’ve always wanted to impress your da, but you never really worried about losing your parents’ love, did you?”
“Of course not,” she said. “Dad might’ve kicked my ass if I screwed up, but he’d never stop loving me.”
“The British killed my da when I was just a lad. And my mum always preferred Norbert.”
Erin knew Carlyle was talking about his brother. They hadn’t spoken since Carlyle had left Ireland nineteen years earlier.
“When I found Rose, I thought maybe I’d a chance at my own family,” he went on. “But those UVF bastards got her, and there was an end to it. Family? You take it for granted, Erin. You with your warmhearted mum, and your da who’s so proud of you. I know how the world can strip away everything a man loves, so he’s got to fight for it. I’ll not be letting anyone take the ones I love from me, not while I’m standing. Do you understand?”
Erin nodded. “I do.” She felt a sudden tenderness toward this complicated, careful man. Without thought or plan, she reached out and took his hand.
“It’s a weakness, in my line of work,” he said. “Caring about anyone. And I’ve no doubt it’ll get me, in the end. But I’ve no regrets.”
“I do love you,” she blurted out.
He blinked and smiled sadly. “Aye, darling. I know it. That’s what makes this so bloody hard on the both of us.”
“So what happens now?”
Carlyle sighed. “Let me see the picture again.”
Erin wordlessly opened the image and handed her phone to him.
“Pat Maginty, Lonnie Burke, and Twitchy Newton.”
“Twitchy?” she echoed.
“I don’t know his right name. Everyone calls him that.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I mean it.”
“Don’t thank me, Erin.” His face was grim. “This will likely mean trouble for the both of us down the road.”
“Can you tell me anything else about them?”
“Nothing you’ll not find in your files.” He stood up. “I’d best be getting back. Ian’s got the car out front.”
She got up and laid a hand on his arm. “Be careful, okay?”
“I’m always careful.”
“Extra careful, then. Watch everybody. Especially the people you trust.”
“Erin?” he said. “Do you know something?”
“Nothing certain. Just watch your back, okay? And your front, while you’re at it.”
“You do the same, darling.”
“My people aren’t as likely to murder me.”
“All the same.”
“Carlyle?”
“Aye?”
“Are we good?”
He smiled then, and for a moment the worry left his face. “Aye, we’re grand, you and I. No fear, we’ll figure something. I’ll be seeing you, darling.”
He bent down, aiming a kiss at her cheek. On an impulse, she turned so she met him with her lips on his. He let the kiss linger a moment before he drew back, surprised but pleased.
When the door closed behind him, she went to her window and looked out. Two floors down, Carlyle’s dark gray Mercedes idled on the street. She saw Ian Thompson get out of the driver’s seat. The former Marine looked both ways, then opened the car door for his boss. Carlyle got in. Ian climbed back behind the wheel and drove away. She watched them go and wondered.
Chapter 11
“I’ve got names,” Erin announced by way of a greeting.
“Our shooters?” Webb asked, looking up from his desk.
“Yeah.”
“You take lessons from that magician we busted?” Vic asked. “Got a rabbit you pulled out of a hat?”
“I don’t care if it’s magic,” Webb said. “I care about results. Who are they?”
“Three Irish guys,” she said, going to the whiteboard and picking up a marker. “Pat Maginty, Lonnie Burke, and Twitchy Newton.”
“How good is this info?” Webb asked.
“They’re the men in a photo from McIntyre’s apartment,” she explained. “Vic’s got the picture.”
“They’re not all the guys in that pic,” Vic said. “We got a couple of old friends there, too.”
“Corcoran and Carlyle weren’t shooters,” she said. “Hell, neither of them even carries a gun.”
“Carlyle?” Webb said sharply. “Our buddy the bar owner?”
“Yeah,” she said wearily.
“Who gave you the names?” he asked.
“A CI.”
“One affiliated with the O’Malleys?”
“I don’t want to reveal anything about him,” she said.
“Our good friend Anonymous comes through again,” Vic said. “Best source the department has.”
“Anyway, Rojas was positive he recognized the guys in that pic as men McIntyre had with him,” Erin said. “Rojas is sure McIntyre shot up his deal, ripped off his heroin, and tried to screw him again on the re-sell.”
“And that’s why Rojas popped McIntyre,” Webb said.
“He’s a murderous asshole,” Vic said. “But at least his motive’s understandable. Crooks hate getting robbed. It’s ironic, don’t you think?”
“Ironic or not, it’s the best lead we’ve got,” Webb said. “Take these names and see what you can find. I’ll shoot them over to Johnson at Homeland Security and see if he’s got anything. As long as we’ve got the Feds breathing down our necks, we might as well get some use out of them.”
Erin looked up Pat Maginty and Twitchy Newton. Unsurprisingly, both of them had fat files with the NYPD. Maginty was an O’Malley enforcer with a long string of drug, weapons, and assault charges. He’d spent half his life in jail and the other half doing the things that had landed him there. He’d just gotten out of Riker’s Island four months ago, after serving eighteen months for aggravated assault. Apparently he’d gotten upset at a café, jumped the counter, and bludgeoned another patron with a hot waffle iron of all things. According to the police report, it had left some unique scars
.
Newton was cut from the same mold. His real name was Timothy. The “Twitchy” handle had stuck after his first major felony conviction. He’d been robbing a payday loan joint, practiced poor trigger discipline, and accidentally fired a revolver twice into the ceiling and once into the leg of an accomplice. That little stunt had landed him five years. Erin was surprised he hadn’t gone down longer for armed robbery; five years was the minimum sentencing. She guessed the judge had thought he was as much a danger to his fellow criminals and himself as to law-abiding society. He’d been in and out of prison ever since.
She and Vic compared notes and found more depressing similarities. Burke was suspected in a double homicide, but the charges hadn’t stuck.
“Lack of evidence,” Vic said. “They never found the murder weapon, and the eyewitness had a change of heart. Standard organized-crime dead end. God, I hate mob hits. What do you think?”
“I think they could be our guys,” she said. “They’ve sure got the pedigree.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But we don’t have evidence on them.”
“But we can do surveillance,” she said. “Maybe get warrants for their phones, check their cars, see if we can find something.”
“They’ll have got rid of the guns already,” he said. “But McIntyre getting popped probably rattled them. They’ll either spook or go to ground.”
“I’ve got addresses for Newton and Maginty,” she said. “Through their parole records.”
“Same for my guy,” Vic said. “It’s a start.”
When they showed Webb what they had, he agreed. He’d just gotten off the phone with Homeland Security, but that hadn’t done any good.
“They’re not on any watch lists,” he said. “The only O’Malley guys the Feds have on their radar are former IRA associates: your buddies Carlyle and Corcoran, the Finneran girl, and some guy called Pritchard who’s in Jersey as far as they know. As far as they’re concerned, the rest of them are just garden-variety thugs. By the way, Homeland Security apologizes about Finneran slipping through. Apparently, she got misfiled somehow. Could be corruption or could be garden-variety institutional incompetence. Hard to tell with the Feds.
“Anyway, we’ve got some extra NYPD bodies to throw at this, so I’ll get the Captain to give us some plainclothes guys. We’ll stick them on all three of these mopes and see where they lead us. In the meantime, draw up some warrants and we’ll see if we can get Judge Ferris to sign off for home searches. Shouldn’t be too hard. They’re all on parole or probation right now.”
“Whoa,” Vic said, nudging Erin. “Look what just wandered in.”
Kira Jones was standing in the stairwell, hesitating. She put one foot into Major Crimes, paused again, and made eye contact with Erin.
“Hey, stranger,” Erin said.
“Hey, Erin.”
“Whatcha doin’ here?” Vic asked. “Decided to do some police work for a change?” He hadn’t forgiven Kira for transferring out of their squad into Internal Affairs.
“I need to talk to you,” Kira said to Erin. “Well, not me. My boss.”
“Lieutenant Keane?” Erin asked.
“Yeah. Can you step upstairs for a minute? It shouldn’t take long. You’re not in trouble or anything.”
“Just what I needed to make my day complete,” she muttered. “Okay, Rolf. Komm.”
“Don’t worry, Erin,” Vic said behind her. “Internal Affairs says you’re not in trouble. Don’t you feel better knowing that?”
Erin didn’t like Lieutenant Keane, but that wasn’t unusual. As far as she knew, no one liked him. That was fine with “Bloodhound” Keane. The head of an Internal Affairs office wasn’t supposed to be popular. He was the youngest lieutenant in the NYPD: smart, ambitious, and completely ruthless. And Erin knew he’d gotten her the gold shield she wore, saving her career in the process.
She didn’t like owing favors to anyone, no matter which side of the law they were on. So, she gritted her teeth on her way upstairs and tried to think what Keane could possibly want with her. The one thing she was sure of was that a call from IAB was never, ever good news.
Kira didn’t offer any information on the way up, and Erin couldn’t think of anything to say to her. Rolf padded beside her, a warm, solid support. Erin was grateful for his presence.
On the third floor, Kira peeled off to her desk, leaving Erin and Rolf to walk the last few yards to Keane’s office unescorted. His door was closed. She took a breath and knocked.
“Come in.”
Keane was seated behind his desk, a sharp-faced man, perfectly dressed, clean-shaven, every hair combed exactly right. He had a thin hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth that looked slightly mocking.
“Detective O’Reilly,” he said. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I’m glad Kira caught you in the office. Please close the door and have a seat.”
Erin sat down without saying anything. She was certain Keane had known exactly where she was before he’d sent Kira down.
“I see you’ve still got your K-9 with you,” he went on. “I was just reading over the arrest report for Diego Rojas. Fine work, Detective. From the sound of it, it’s a good thing you’ve got your dog on your squad, or he might have slipped away.”
“He’d be dead if he had,” she said. “They almost lost him on the way to the hospital. If he hadn’t gotten medical attention, he’d be done.”
“But then you wouldn’t have gotten any further leads.” He leaned forward slightly. “I don’t need to remind you, there’s a lot of attention being focused on this case, all the way from the top.”
Erin nodded.
“It’ll be a real feather in your cap if you collar the surviving gunmen,” he said. “Am I right in assuming Liam McIntyre was one of them?”
“We don’t know if he actually fired any shots,” she said. “But we’re pretty sure he masterminded the attack. He might’ve been there, he might not.”
“But you can’t arrest him, more’s the pity,” Keane said, leaning back in his chair again. “Was he already a suspect when you met with him, right before he was shot?”
Danger signals went off in the back of Erin’s mind. “No,” she said, choosing her words carefully. She couldn’t let Keane, of all people, suspect the real nature of her relationship with Carlyle and the O’Malleys. “I was using him as an informant, looking for background on drug operations. I knew he was competition for the Lucarellis, so I thought he might be willing to tell me something about them we could use.”
“Was he helpful?”
“No. He got spooked and left, just in time to get mowed down.”
Keane’s smile grew wider. “I see. Well, I imagine it’s just a matter of mopping up now. With Rojas in custody, all you need to do is sweep up what’s left of McIntyre’s crew. You know who you’re looking for?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you tie them to the hit?”
“Not yet. But we’re getting warrants. There’s a chance at least one of them will have something. Then we can lean on that guy to break them open. We’re confident we’ve got the right guys.”
“Good.”
“Sir?”
Keane raised a polite eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Why am I here?” She knew it wasn’t a good idea to ask a question like that. The best way to be around Internal Affairs was quiet. Erin was from a police family. She knew all about the Blue Wall. Cops protected other cops. It was way too easy to screw up procedures; every officer lived in a state of mild infraction at best, and the only hope was not to get jammed up too badly.
“Do you have any ideas on the subject of why I might want to talk to you?” Keane asked. His smile was still wide, almost predatory.
Erin thought back to the card game Carlyle had invited her to at his place back in February, a gathering of the O’Malley leadership. She’d stonewalled scarier guys than Keane. He wasn’t going to shake her with a simple question like that. She cocked her head at him the way Rolf did whe
n he was trying to figure what was going on.
Seconds ticked by. Erin didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t flinch. She tried to put an expression of polite interest on her face.
“There have been some concerns,” Keane said at last. “My office is aware that you’ve formed an association with one or more members of the O’Malleys. You can understand why that might be of interest to the department?”
Erin shrugged. “I’m a detective. We talk to a lot of shady characters. I’ve gotten some good intel from a couple of sources in that organization.”
He nodded. “Which ones?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that, sir,” she said. “For obvious reasons, informants’ names can’t be freely passed around, even among police. The CI’s life would be in danger if a name got mentioned, even in your office. I’m sure you understand, sir.”
“Of course,” Keane said. “Well, I appreciate that you’re being careful, Detective. I understand some of the ethical gray areas an officer can get into. If you should happen to find yourself in a… difficult situation, I hope you know you can come to me. I have some experience in extricating officers from unforeseen complications.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”
Keane stood up. “Thank you for your time, Detective. That will be all.”
Erin got to her feet, puzzled. That was it? She wanted to say something but knew it would be a terrible idea. Instead, she shook hands with the Lieutenant, got hold of Rolf’s leash, and left the office.
Outside, Kira shot her a sidelong look and spread her hands in a gesture that was a clear question: how did it go?
Erin gave her a small shrug by way of answer. Then she went down to Major Crimes to get back to work.
The warrants were waiting when she got there. Under Article 700 of New York’s Criminal Procedure Law, the NYPD needed the proper paperwork to start eavesdropping and video surveillance. Now they could tap phones, peek through windows, and do all the creepy Big Brother spying they could imagine. They also had search warrants, but Webb wasn’t keen on serving those just yet.
“It’s better to keep them in the dark,” he said. “Assuming these guys aren’t complete morons, they’ll have their drugs and weapons pretty well hidden. I’d rather sit back and watch them for a little while. If they don’t know we’re on them, they’ll lead us to their stash soon enough.”