Massacre

by Steven Henry

  “He wouldn’t sell out these guys,” Vic said. “No way. That’d be murder for hire. Not even a Fed would pull that shit.”

  “Well, someone did,” Erin said. “I think we need to talk to him.”

  “Not right away,” Vic said. “We’ve got another crime scene to process. Those poor chumps at CSU are in for a long night. I bet they’re not even close to done with the Newton hit, and then they’ve got to come down here.”

  “Sounds like you guys need to be about three places at once,” Piekarski said. “Where do you need me?”

  Erin was the ranking detective on scene, she realized uncomfortably. The other two were looking to her. She tried to think fast and straight.

  “We need to talk to Burke as quick as possible,” she decided. “And we need to keep tabs on Agent Johnson, in case he’s our guy. And we need someone to stay on scene here until Webb gets here. Piekarski, can you hang here and talk to the Lieutenant?”

  “Copy that.”

  “Okay, Vic, I want you to find out where Johnson is, what he’s doing, and who he’s talking to.”

  He stared at her. “Erin, you’re asking me to run surveillance on a Federal agent.”

  “Nothing official. No phone taps. But we have to know what he’s up to. Is that a problem?”

  He smiled then, a nasty smile with no warmth in it. “No problem. What’re you gonna be doing?”

  “I’ll talk to Burke. I assume he’s on his way back to the Eightball?”

  Piekarski nodded. “Logan and Firelli are bringing him in right now.”

  “Then that’s where I’m going. Vic, you can take Rolf and me there. Johnson may be there, too. If he’s not, maybe you can pick up his trail.”

  “Copy that. Let’s do this.”

  In the Taurus, on the way back to the precinct, Erin got to ride up front this time. Rolf sat in the back, watching Erin attentively.

  “Piekarski seems like good police,” Vic commented.

  “Yeah, she is,” Erin said.

  “How well you know her?”

  “Not real well. I pulled a job with her squad a few weeks back. Drug bust.”

  “I didn’t hear about that. It wasn’t one of our cases, was it?”

  Erin didn’t want to talk about it, not with Vic, but it had bled through into their current case, so she wasn’t sure how much choice she had. “I got a tip from one of my CIs,” she said. “Liam McIntyre, if you can believe it. He saw a chance to take down a rival and tipped me off about a heroin shipment. I fed it to SNEU and they let me ride along.”

  “So she’s paying you back now? Favor for a favor?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You know if she’s… you know, with anyone?”

  Erin blinked. “Seriously, Vic? We’ve got more than a dozen bodies stacking up in the morgue, and that’s what you’re thinking about?”

  “Hey!” he said defensively. “I just thought I got this vibe from her, like maybe she was into me a little.”

  “No, Vic, I don’t know if Piekarski is sleeping with anyone right now,” Erin said, rolling her eyes. “Maybe you should find out yourself, along with some other things. Like, maybe her first name?”

  “Wow, look who’s a prude all of a sudden,” Vic said. “You must not be getting any yourself.”

  “You’re amazing, Vic. I can see why they made you a detective. Absolutely nothing gets by you. My love life’s an open book and you’re reading every chapter.”

  “Sarcasm, O’Reilly?”

  “From me? Never.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “Look, Vic, you’re a grownup, more or less, and so is she. You do whatever the hell you want. Just try not to let it affect the case.”

  “I’m just saying I like working with her.”

  “And hey, at least this girl’s not likely to try to have you whacked.”

  “That happened once. Once! Jesus, I’m the one who can’t get away with anything around here.”

  Vic and Erin hurried into Precinct 8 and split up. Vic went looking for Homeland Security, while Erin grabbed Sergeant Malcolm at the front desk. Malcolm was a veteran of her father’s generation, well past his twenty years but still hanging on. He smiled when he saw her.

  “Hey, if it isn’t Sean’s girl,” he said. “You got a kiss for a lonely old man?”

  “Glad to,” Erin said. “Come out from back there and bend over. Rolf, küss.”

  Rolf looked at Erin. She had, indeed, said the German word for “kiss,” but that wasn’t part of his training. He was waiting for her to give him a real command.

  Malcolm laughed. “Looks like you’ve got a boyfriend on the Force already. Don’t worry, big fella, I’ll keep my distance.”

  “Say, Sarge, did a couple plainclothes officers bring in an Irish guy a little while ago?”

  “Yeah. They just got here a couple minutes ahead of you, just booked him.” Malcolm checked his log. “We’ve got one Leonard Burke in lockup right now. I think the boys who brought him in are still in there with him.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “How’s your old man these days? He miss the action?”

  Erin paused on her way to the door. “Yeah. He was just telling me the other day how much he missed hosing vomit out of his car after hauling drunks downtown. He says a nice, quiet day on the lake with a fishing rod just doesn’t give him the same thrill.”

  “You saying I should retire?”

  “Might be worth thinking about.”

  Malcolm spread his hands around the lobby. “And leave all this behind?”

  Three Patrol officers were trying to separate a pair of streetwalkers who were in the middle of a screaming match. A guy was standing a few feet away from Erin, staring past her with pupils dilated like dinner plates. He was having a conversation with somebody named Renny, who didn’t appear to exist. Erin gave Malcolm a shrug and led Rolf away.

  She found Sergeant Logan and his buddy Firelli in the process of figuring out the vending machine outside lockup. Firelli was feeding a crumpled-up dollar bill into the slot.

  “Hey, guys,” she called.

  “O’Reilly,” Logan said.

  The machine spat the bill back out into Firelli’s hand. He cursed and tried again.

  “Where’s my guy?” she asked.

  “Room one,” Logan said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

  “He give you any trouble?”

  “Nah. He tried to run when we showed our shields, but they always do that. Firelli grabbed him before he made it halfway to the door.”

  “Anything on him?”

  Logan grinned. “Oh, yeah. Snub-nose .38, a switchblade, and a pocketful of nose candy. Unlicensed gun for a major parole violation, illegal knife, and Class D felony weight of heroin.”

  “It’s the trifecta,” Firelli agreed. He smiled. Then the machine gave him his dollar back again and the smile fell off his face. “You know how to get a bag of damn M&Ms out of this thing?”

  Erin pulled out her wallet and handed him a less crumpled bill. “Try this one. So, we’ve got enough to hold him just based on that. He think it’s a drug bust?”

  “That’d be my guess,” Logan said. “Say, what’s going on? I heard some crazy shit on the radio, and then your CO told us to go in and snatch this guy.”

  “His whole crew’s getting popped,” she explained. “Two down so far tonight.”

  Logan whistled. “Gotcha. So, we’re protecting this scumbag?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “I assume we want something from him?”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “You want him alone, or you want Firelli or me with you?”

  “Yes!” Firelli shouted.

  Erin and Logan turned to look at him. He stooped and triumphantly plucked a bag of M&Ms out of the vending machine’s dispenser.

  “An addiction’s an ugly thing to see,” Logan said, shaking his head sadly.

  “I’ll talk
to Burke solo,” Erin said. “I’ve got some angles I can work. Can you guys hang around? If you can hold onto Rolf for a few minutes, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Sure thing,” Logan said. “We’ll watch from next door.”

  Lonnie Burke was a stringy, hollow-eyed guy who looked a lot older than the twenty-three years his file said he was. In spite of the cold March weather, he was wearing only cargo pants and a wife-beater that showed off a nice set of tattoos, including some prison ink. Logan and Firelli had snatched him from home and hadn’t given him the chance to put on more clothes. Erin saw the edginess in his posture, the needle tracks on his arms. He was rubbing his elbows, either from the cold or from nerves.

  “Hey, Lonnie,” she said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the interrogation table. “You know who I am?”

  He looked at her blankly for a second. Then she saw recognition in his eyes, followed by relief and a look of sly cunning.

  “Yeah,” he said. He leaned forward in his chair. “You’re O’Reilly. It’s covered, then?”

  Erin realized he thought she was there at Carlyle’s request. She had to swallow an angry denial. She needed Lonnie to talk, and if he thought she was on his side, so much the better. But she had to be careful. Word got around, both in prison and on the street, and if she screwed Lonnie too badly, Evan O’Malley would be sure to hear about it.

  She hissed sharply through her teeth, warning him not to say anything explicit about her connection to the O’Malleys. “I’m working on helping you,” she said, leaning toward him to match his posture. “Listen, Lonnie. You’re in deep shit.”

  “Hey, it’s just a weapons charge,” he said. “And we can knock down the weight on the shit to a misdemeanor, right?”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” she said. “The Colombians know about you. You heard what happened to Liam?”

  “Yeah, I heard,” he said. His face went a little paler. “Shit, that was the cartel?”

  “Yeah,” Erin said. “They know all about Liam’s little double deal. They know you guys hit the restaurant, and they’ve got someone feeding them names. They’ve got guys right here, in town, right now, looking for you.”

  “How do you know that?” Lonnie asked.

  “Twitchy and Maginty got whacked less than an hour ago.”

  “What? Both of them?” Lonnie hadn’t looked good to begin with, and now he looked like warmed-over death. “You sure?”

  “I just came from the Irish American,” she said. “Maginty’s there. He’s done. They got Newton half an hour before that, outside his place.”

  Lonnie sat back. He didn’t seem to be feeling the cold now. He wiped sweat off his forehead. “Hail Mary, full of grace,” he muttered. Erin reflected that a Catholic upbringing left its mark, even on a guy like Burke.

  “That’s why my people picked you up,” she said. “We had to get you off the street before you got nailed, too.”

  “Thanks,” Lonnie said. “Hey, could I get a smoke or something?”

  “Sorry, not here,” she said. “Government building. You know how it is. Look, Lonnie, we’re going to keep you safe here while we sort out these cartel goons. We can’t have these out-of-town mooks coming in here and shooting up the place, right?”

  “Yeah, I hear that,” he said. “So I just gotta sit tight?”

  “I need to get your last buddy somewhere safe,” she said.

  “Last buddy?” Lonnie echoed.

  “Liam, Twitchy, and Pat are dead,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers. Then she made her guess. “There’s just you and Siobhan left.”

  And she knew she was right. She saw it in his eyes even before he spoke.

  “Look, Miss O’Reilly, you ain’t gotta worry about her,” Lonnie said with surprising earnestness. “Those jerks find her, they’re gonna wish they hadn’t.”

  “I know she’s good,” Erin said. “But so are they.”

  “Good?” Burke repeated. “Lady, this broad… shit, we’re playing Little League and she’s starting for the Yankees, okay? You should’ve seen… damn. It was something else. You know what happened at the restaurant? You know what that was? Three shots. Three. Nobody’s that good.”

  Erin nodded, feeling a thrill. This was exactly what she needed. Logan and Firelli were hearing every word, and recording it.

  “You saw her do it?” Erin asked.

  “Nah,” he said. “Angle was wrong. But I heard. One, two, three. That fast.”

  “Okay,” Erin said, pretending to be impressed. It wasn’t hard to pretend. She’d seen the bodies behind the restaurant. It had been the best shooting she’d ever seen in twelve years with the NYPD. “Maybe you’re right, and she can take care of herself. But you know how it is.”

  She leaned in again, speaking quietly, for Burke’s ears alone. “She means a lot to Cars. Anything happens to her, he’s going to go ballistic.”

  Burke nodded. “Gotcha. But I can’t do nothing about that. I don’t know where she is. She’s getting out of town, I know that, but I don’t know when or how. Hell, maybe she’s gone already.”

  “What about the stuff?” Erin asked. “You got it stashed somewhere safe?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “What your boys didn’t take off me. It’s at a stash house downtown. Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna find it.”

  Erin couldn’t ask for more information on that, not without risking herself. She was on thin ice already, and if a Narcotics squad swooped in on their drug stash now, she couldn’t think of any way to square it.

  “Okay,” she said. “The word is, you sit tight for now. This is the safest place you can be. Just be patient. I’ll figure out what’s going down and get back to you.”

  “Okay,” Burke said. “I’ll wait.”

  “Who’s Siobhan?” Logan asked.

  “An O’Malley associate,” Erin said. She collected Rolf’s leash. The K-9 sniffed her hand and wagged his tail.

  “You’ve got good contacts with these guys.”

  “Yeah,” she said shortly. “Look, thanks for helping out, guys. But I need to bounce. We’re on a clock."

  “Sure thing, Detective.” Logan smiled. “I guess we’ll head back to the Five. Some of us have day jobs.”

  “You work nights,” she reminded him. “And you belong to the Eightball tonight.”

  “Whatever. See you around, O’Reilly. But if you ever come by The Final Countdown, first round’s on you.”

  Firelli grinned. “He’s right, Detective. We got an Irish guy in lockup, so you’re buying. We don’t make the rules. That’s Mickstat.” He was referring to his squad’s ethnic rule for providing end-of-shift drinks.

  “Like hell you don’t,” she said. “But do me a favor, okay? Keep an eye on Burke.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Logan said.

  “I don’t mean watch him,” she said. “I mean protect him.”

  “From what?” Firelli said. “We’re in a police station!”

  “Yeah,” she said. “We are.”

  Logan gave her a hard, searching look. “You’re serious.”

  She nodded.

  “Firelli, you still got your chocolate?” he asked.

  Firelli held up his half-empty bag.

  “Okay,” Logan said. “We’ll hang here for a bit. Just do me a favor, and once this is over, explain it to me.”

  “I hope I can,” she said.

  Chapter 14

  Erin ran upstairs to Major Crimes. Vic was at his computer, scowling at the screen. A few officers on loan from Patrol were talking things over by the whiteboard. She glanced at the clock. It was going on midnight. She tried to remember when her day had started and couldn’t.

  Vic looked up at her. “Hey,” he said. “Get anything out of—”

  She swiped a finger across her throat in a quick, sharp motion. He cut himself off midsentence, stood up, and walked over to her. “Break room?” he asked in an undertone.

  “I need some coffee,” she agreed.
r />   They went into the break room, which contained a garage-sale dining table, a few beat-up chairs, a disreputable couch, and a very nice espresso machine. Erin poured a cup while Vic closed the door.

  “Jesus, Erin, you’re getting paranoid,” he said. “You really think people are eavesdropping on us here?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I just know we had surveillance teams following three guys tonight, and two of those guys are dead now. I don’t want to broadcast the fact that we’ve got the third one downstairs.”

  “Is he safe?”

  “Yeah. Logan and Firelli are watching him.”

  “Are they safe?”

  “And you call me paranoid? Hell, I don’t know. But if they’re dirty, it doesn’t make any sense. They’re the only watchers who brought their guy in alive.”

  “That’s a good point. Hey, could you get me a cup, too?”

  Erin handed him the coffee and started pouring another.

  “So,” he said. “Did he talk?”

  “Enough. The fourth shooter was Siobhan Finneran.”

  Vic smiled tightly. “Good work. I knew they gave you that gold shield for a reason. We got a location on her?”

  “Not yet. He thinks she’s skipping town.”

  “We’ll put the word out to JFK and LaGuardia,” he said. “And to the Port Authority.”

  “That’s not enough,” she said. “Siobhan’s slick. She’s gotten away before. We’re going to miss her again, unless—”

  “Unless what?”

  “The O’Malleys will know,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Yeah,” Vic said. “But they won’t tell you.”

  “If they’ve got a leak, then her life’s in danger,” Erin said. “We’re only guessing the Colombians are getting their intel from a police source. If they’re getting it from an O’Malley, then they may already know where she is.”

  “Do we care?”

  She gave him a look. “We’re cops, Vic. It’s our job to care.”

  “Even if they’re hitmen? Hitwomen? Hitpeople?”

  “Human life is human life, Vic. We don’t get to put a different price tag on it just because we don’t like her.”